


...but the eyes find the eyes

by iv_kapelput



Series: and i'll meet you coming backwards [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Italian Mafia, Maggia - Freeform, NOT between mac and frankie and ONLY attempted with NO graphic descriptions of anything, Past Abuse, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Abuse, but NOT between the main ship i'm slowly going towards i cannot stress this enough, enemies to still enemies but with verbal insults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iv_kapelput/pseuds/iv_kapelput
Summary: in this one - we get to know frankie from circa-2008 and her circumstances a little bit better, as well as learn how did she slowly grow to tolerate mac's presence. there's still no love in sight; but love takes time and proper circumstances.those, however, are not those circumstances.
Relationships: Mac Gargan/Frankie Moretti-Sato, Mac Gargan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: and i'll meet you coming backwards [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526687
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	...but the eyes find the eyes

**Author's Note:**

> this one took me forever, for various reasons.  
> at the beginning of 2020 - when i was in the middle of writing this - my grandma abruptly passed away. then i lost a good friend, whose influence still lingers all across my writing. i'm slowly working on removing parts inspired by him.  
> and now i'm here, with a new job, a whole apartment to take care of on my hands and nearing the end of the second round of therapy. am i still myself? dunno. but i do know i'm still here.  
> find me on tumblr at: jasonspisak (personal) / iv-kplpt (writing sideblog)

Spider-Man paid her a visit about a week after their meeting; it was middle of the night - but Frankie wasn’t asleep. She had always been a nocturnal person, finding it much easier to collect her thoughts and focus after the sunset; and Mac’s disappearance didn’t change it - even though with him seemingly gone, nights became way less pleasant for her. Suddenly she - once again - had no one to talk to, no one to embrace her; and it was a very weird, hollow feeling.

Mac’s absence felt differently than Angelo’s - _obviously,_ she told herself. _Of course it feels different. Mac’s your husband. Angelo’s… Your ex-almost-husband. Also your best friend. Also Angelo told you he’s going to hide. He said - Yuri Watanabe went rogue, and she knows she can use me to get to my father. So whether I like it or not… I need to hide. I’ll be back though, whether you like it or not._

(He didn’t say that last thing; he didn’t have to.)

Angelo’s absence was announced, expected and accepted; and Mac’s absence was sudden and unprompted, and caused Frankie to have many sleepless nights, spent wondering if it’s her fault, if she did something to push him away, if he simply woke up one day and realized - _I don’t love her, I don’t want her, I can’t do this anymore, time to slip out through a window and vanish into the night._

( _What did I do to push you away, Mackie? Was I too needy? Was I too clingy? Did I worry too much?_ )

That lack of closure was driving her crazy; that and the fact she was worried about him. She loved him so much she let him help her; and now he was gone, and she didn’t even know if he’s _alive_.

When Spider-Man tapped at her window she was curled up on the couch (she picked it with Mac, and she helped him assemble it; or rather _he_ assembled it, and she sat nearby and made fun of him) and Brutus was asleep on the floor; poor dog was obviously missing his owner - he only ever fell asleep in spots Mac used to frequently occupy. 

That night, Frankie and Brutus both were feeling particularly miserable; Brutus limited himself to curling up in front of the couch - and Frankie gave in to the desperate desire for comfort and put on one of many Mac’s sweatshirts that were still laying around. That one was particularly precious to her, as if still smelled of him - and wearing it almost felt like a small substitute for an actual embrace.

( _He was muscular and strong, and his firm grip felt like home; and she loved falling asleep in his arms, feeling safe, feeling warm, feeling loved._ )

The TV was on, and the lights were off; and Frankie was curled up on the couch, holding a cup of chamomile tea and blankly looking into space, as the news channel buzzed in the background, filling the room with pale, flickering light and blurred shadows; and suddenly - she heard someone quietly tapping at her window.

She got up hastily, spilling her tea all over the floor; but she didn’t care, hurrying towards the window. _Mac, Mac, oh my god, Mac is back_ , she thought excitedly; her hands were shaking as she opened the window-

“Oh.” she said as the waves of disappointment washed over her. “It’s you.”

“One and only.” Spider-Man - hanging head-down from the wall - said. “Were you… Expecting someone?”

“Expecting? No.” she scoffed, turning around. “Just… Hoping.”

“So… Still no word from Scorps?”

“Not a word.” she confirmed, sinking back into the couch; she winced slightly, feeling the lukewarm tea soak the fabric of her socks. “You can come in, by the way. I’m… Not exactly _busy._ ”

“I can see that.” he said, dropping down onto the floor. “Hey, doggy. I uh… Got you a treat.”

“He’s not gonna take it.” she said, looking at Brutus who raised his head to look at Spider-Man. “He only takes food from Mac… Or me. Never from strangers.”

“I was going to ask you to be the delivery girl anyway.” Spider-Man said nervously, not budging from his spot. “I uh… Got him a roasted turkey wing. No spices though. I’ve heard human spices are… Bad for dogs.”

He awkwardly put the aforementioned roasted turkey wing next to her, still maintaining a safe distance from the - seemingly disinterested - Brutus.

“They are.” she said, leaning towards the dog and putting the gift in front of him “Here, boy. You know the rules. Don’t eat the bone.”

In response - he growled; and Frankie smiled palely. During the past many weeks, the dog’s presence brought her a lot more comfort than she anticipated; while they both missed Mac, they each missed him in a different way - but it didn’t matter. It simply felt nice to have someone around who also kept listening for the familiar footsteps, the familiar presence; and it definitely felt nice to have a reason to go out four times a day, instead of turning her apartment into a tomb. If it wasn’t for Brutus needing his walks - she’d turn into a hermit, living off takeout food and groceries delivered to her doorstep, missing, waiting, yearning.

“Good boy.” she said, once again leaning towards him, to scratch him behind the ear. “Now, Spider-Man… Why are you here? Did you find Mac?”

“I didn’t, unfortunately.” he said; and he sounded genuinely apologetic. “I checked all his hideouts, known contacts… I even went to the Bar With No Name. And either no one had heard from him… Or they’re all _super_ good at lying. And unfortunately, I kind of don’t have resources to bug each and every of Mac Gargan’s _associates_ right now.”

“Oh.” she said, not even trying to hide her disappointment; her heart sank as she opened her mouth. “So… Why are you here?”

_please don’t tell me i’m on my own oh my god i checked all of his fucking hideouts and i begged all of his friends to tell me anything and i’ve got nothing_

“I just thought you might want to know I’ve got nothing so far.” he said awkwardly. “Which might mean it might be a good idea to try a different angle, I guess.”

“You can use me as a bait.” she said immediately. “You can… Shit, I don’t know. Spider-crucify me, to send him a message.”

“Out of question. I… Seriously don’t want to make it _public_. You heard about Y… About captain Watanabe?”

“That cop who went rogue and is now hunting Maggia dons? Yeah. Don Fortunato’s son told me.”

“I really don’t want to get her attention.” he said, finally walking up to the couch. “So… No big shows. No loud messages.”

“Why not?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. “You’d kill two birds with one stone. You’d get Mackie’s attention… _And_ deal with Watanabe at the same time.”

“I don’t want to kill her!” he said, sounding a bit panicked. “I know that’s a saying, but I also know you’re from a Maggia family, _and_ that you married Scorps… So frankly, that doesn’t really sound like a metaphor coming from _you_. No offense.”

“None taken.” she replied automatically. “Why not kill her though? You’ve fought her twice recently, and _she_ almost killed you… Plus she kills people in general. Aren’t you against that?”

“Can we switch the topic? _Please_?”

“You can just leave.” she said with a shrug. “Unless… There’s something else you wanted to tell me.”

He sighed.

“How many people _exactly_ know about… You being his wife?” he asked cautiously. “I thought that maybe if I go to the Bar again, and just say _his wife is very worried, yes, he has a wife, stop laughing_ someone might crack.”

Frankie let out a bitter snicker.

“You’re naive to think I hadn’t already done that.” she said, rolling her eyes. “I went to the Bar so many times they had to blacklist me. Pretty much everyone who goes there now knows who I am… And I’ve still got nothing. My guess is he’s simply not in touch with anyone. He could’ve skipped town for all I know.”

Spider-Man sighed again.

“The Avengers have a supercomputer monitoring criminal activities across the entire planet.” he said. “I’m running a script on it that makes it send me a notification whenever something Scorpos would plausibly do happens. I’m also running _another_ script that automatically checks those flagged events for his presence. You know. CCTV footage, handwriting, eyewitness testimonies…”

“Wait.” she said, feeling slightly dizzy. “Are you telling me the Avengers are… Watching everything that happens on Earth?”

He laughed.

“No, no, no!” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “We _do_ have access to police systems though. Anyway, my point is - he hadn’t been active _anywhere_. And, even with the dons in hiding, getting out of New York unnoticed is actually kinda difficult. Especially when you’re a six feet tall man dressed up as a scorpion, who occasionally hisses at people and sometimes runs on all fours.”

“Mackie’s _over_ six feet tall.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I… Have better things to memorize than how tall all my villains are.”

“Right.” she said, looking away from him and back at Brutus, who - in the meantime - ate all the meat off the roasted wing Spider-Man brought for him and was now lazily polishing the leftover bone with his tongue. “So, is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

He sighed yet again.

“God.” he muttered. “Why is talking to you so… Hard?”

“Probably because I intimately know someone who had tried to kill you more than once. And I love him, and you don’t know what to make of me.” she said with a shrug. “Don’t worry. I have no idea how to handle you too, but I just… I don’t know what else to do. I checked all of his hideouts. I asked people he went out for drinks with. I asked people he worked with. I even considered asking people he worked _against,_ but… You know his career history. He made plenty enemies that’d love to get back at him. I’m not willing to _die_ because of him. Not like that, at least.”

“Good to hear you still have some common sense left, even despite… You know. Anyway.” he sighed. “This is probably going to sound dumb as hell, but… I thought it might help if I knew more about him. As a person. What kind of person he _used_ to be. I more or less know what kind of person he _is_ , so I thought - if I learn what kind of person he used to be, and compare it to what I know… Maybe that’ll help.”

“That’s an awfully roundabout way of asking me about our marriage.” she said with a sigh. “He never hit me. He never manipulated me. He lied to me, yes - but he was faithful. He was a good partner. A good husband. I never felt like I’m in danger around him. Well, at least after that… Initial stage of knowing him. I didn’t like him all that much at first.”

“And that’s understandable. That’s reasonable. He kidnapped you… In a pretty horrifying way, if I may add. Ambushing a lonely girl at night, choking her, drugging her, laughing in her face… I guess some things _did_ stay the same after all.”

“That was ten years ago.” she protested faintly. “And Mackie… He had no other choice.”

“There’s _always_ a choice.” Spider-Man countered. “He didn’t have to work for don Macchio. He didn’t have to kidnap you. He didn’t have to help Macchio with anything. He made a conscious decision to do so, and that decision had lead to you… Not having a great time.”

“Funny. Back then I _also_ thought he had a choice.” she sighed, absent-mindedly rubbing the back of her right hand with her fingertips. “But then again, back then I didn’t really think too much of him. He was just… _There_. A menacing presence in the corner of my eye, constantly reminding me of my lack of agency.”

“But something changed that.”

“But the eyes found the eyes, Spider-Man. It took some time, but eventually… I started to kinda like him.”

***

She only saw Mac about a week after her abrupt ordeal.

For a few days, she stayed at home; her tattoo (she hated it, she hated it so much she’d sometimes look at the bread knife and her wrist and wonder how much does cutting a hand off _really_ hurt) needed to heal - and she needed to collect her thoughts. Those were odd days; suddenly - she had nothing to do. No dough to knead, no fruits to slice, no almonds to shave, no customers to serve; it was just her, her aching (but not really; it wasn’t really _painful_ , it was just a relentless, blunt stinging, a slightly burning itch that she couldn’t scratch) hand and her thoughts. 

She didn’t really talk to anyone during these few days; her brother was nowhere to be found, and Frankie relished the possibility her kidnapper killed him. Don Macchio seemed to be angry at her brother, and Gargan seemed to be more than capable of killing a groveling, lanky guy. 

Her father was busy at work; and her mother - her mother didn’t even _try_ to initiate a conversation with sulking Frankie, instead choosing to chat with her friends over coffee and cakes brought from her (temporarily closed, due to Frankie’s _problem_ , as Kiyomi referred to it, all while avoiding looking at her daughter’s hand) bakery; and directly communicating with Angelo was out of question - there was a possibility Macchio bugged her phone, and she knew better, than to test don Fortunato’s patience like that. He was already aware of her sudden involvement in Macchio’s business; and as much as he valued his son’s fiancee’s life - he was not a fool. He valued his son’s life over hers, and Macchio knowing Frankie’s in any way involved with Angelo would endanger Angelo greatly.

(At least that’s what Angelo said in a letter, delivered to her by one of don Fortunato’s lieutenants disguised as a postman - a very inconspicuous-looking, middle aged man with a slight lisp. Somehow, he looked like every other postman she had ever encountered; no wonder he slipped past Mac’s watchful eye. No one in their right mind would ever suspect a Maggia don of using a method of communication that’s so easy to hijack and derail.)

It was all true, and correct, and impossibly cruel.

It meant she’s alone with her problem. It meant no one’s gonna do shit to help her. _Isn’t my father’s loyalty to Cicero enough?_ , she wanted to ask. _Isn’t me being an innocent bystander enough? Isn’t Macchio blatantly scheming to overthrow you behind your back enough to help me?_

None of it was enough, and she knew it; but it still _hurt_. It _hurt_ that her father didn’t even _try_ to ask his don for help. It _hurt_ that her mother didn’t even _try_ to ask Ophelie - don Frank Costa’s wife and her friend - for help. It _hurt_ that her father-in-law to be, one of the most powerful men in all of New York, decided to simply look away, all in the name of his son’s fragile safety and maintaining the Maggia’s status quo. All it would take for Fortunato to get her out of her brother’s mess was a single order; and no one would even _know_ it was about _her_. Dons ordered attacks on one another all the time, even during the times of peace between le famiglias; and Macchio was rebellious. He schemed behind Fortunato’s back, he wanted more than he deserved, and he was willing to spill blood for it. Fortunato could simply decide Macchio’s not worthy of being a don, and order his execution; and no one would ask any questions.

Those grim thoughts accompanied Frankie’s every day, as she played games on her PlayStation 3, browsed the internet, read books and watched the tv - all in perfect silence, not really absorbing anything, her mind still fixated on her recent ordeal and the apparent lack of any way out. Eventually though - after some crying fits and sleepless nights - she decided enough is enough. She couldn’t possibly spend rest of her life like that, silently awaiting the inevitable, rotting at the age of twenty; _this is not the end of the world_ , she told herself. _You’re not the first or the last person fucked like that. There are hundreds, if not thousands branded people in New York. It happens. It can happen to anyone._

***

“ _Gotta say, you downplay your own suffering a lot._ ”

“ _I’m not downplaying anything. That’s a decade old situation we’re talking about. It happened. It had been resolved. Mackie apologized to me. I’ve gotten over it._ ”

“ _Yeah, but I mean… You were basically sold into servitude by your own brother, and no one even tried to help you. You sure you got over it?_ ”

“ _Look around the room. Do you see any family pictures? No? Here’s your answer._ ”

***

One day - she simply got dressed up and left her home. 

At first, she planned on simply hanging out with her friends from high school - but they all went to college, and were busy with college stuff. Frankie - pressured by her parents and Angelo and don Fortunato into keeping a low profile and being helpful and unassuming for the next few years - never got that chance; all she really had going on back then was her mother’s bakery - and that was where she decided to go, desperate for anything to occupy her mind with.

Gargan was standing just outside the apartment building, right next to the door. She didn’t notice him at first, since he was leaning against the wall; but he noticed her immediately.

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asked lazily from behind her; and she winced and shuddered.

“Yeah. Away from _you._ ” she replied angrily. “Fuck off.”

He snickered; and that sound alone was enough to make her blood _boil_. Suddenly she wanted to stop and turn around and _rip his throat out_. _Slap him. Kick him. Spit on him. Anything to wipe that fucking smirk off his face._

(Even though she couldn’t see his face - she had no doubts about his expression.)

“Cute.” he said, marching behind her. “Can’t do that though. Boss told me to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m surprised you even _understood_ what that means.” she said angrily. “Can you even _read_ , you fucking _cretin_? It’s a fucking miracle you’re not _drooling_ all the time.” she added, trembling with fury; she continued hurling more and more insults towards him, finding herself unable of controlling herself. “Hey! Are you even _listening_ to me, you fucking _asshole_?”

“Nah.” he said with a yawn. “Why, did you need something?”

_oh my FUCKING god._

She stopped, turned around and began to furiously throw punches at him. She wasn’t aiming for any particular part of him; all she wanted was to leave some bruises.

He looked down at her in quiet confusion, as her fists pounded against his rock-hard stomach and chest. His white dress shirt rustled quietly under her hands; and other people on the street couldn’t possibly care less about a scrawny girl screaming at and hitting a large man who stared at her in silence.

“You done?” he asked finally; she let out an angry, frustrated groan, turned around and walked away. “Oh. Alright. So you _are_ done.”

“ _Fuck off._ ” she snarled in response. “I don’t want to _see_ you. I don’t want to _talk to you_.”

“Tough luck.” he said in response. “What, would you rather have me watch you from a distance?”

“I’d rather have you fuck off, you brainless fucking _oaf_.” she shot back. “You and your fucking boss can both _rot in hell_.”

Thankfully, this time he didn’t respond; he _did_ follow her to the bakery though, and stood behind her, watching her as she patted her pockets and rummaged through her backpack, searching for the key.

“Looking for something?” he asked finally; she gritted her teeth and turned around, silently praying for a truck to run over him.

“Yeah.” she said, furiously staring him down; to which he shot her a grim grin and pulled the bakery keys out of his pocket. “Oh for _fuck’s sake._ ”

“You dropped them.” he said, dangling the keys over her head mockingly; and suddenly she noticed his hand was no longer bandaged. _Did it heal already? Shit, I thought I at least damaged some nerves._

“Give them _back_.” she said through gritted teeth.

“Or what?” he asked, dangling the keys once more. “C’mon. Humor me.”

“Get _fucked_ , you fucking _weirdo._ ” she snarled in response, not at all amused by the situation. “Fucking _choke._ ”

He shrugged; and just as he was about to put the key into his pocket - she punched him in the dick.

It was quick, and angry, and while it wasn’t the world’s strongest punch - it was enough to make him drop the keys, all while loudly exclaiming _OUCH!_

“Fucking loser.” she muttered, picking the keys up; Gargan was gripping a nearly tree so tightly his knuckles turned white, bent over, gasping for air. 

He didn’t actively bother her for the rest of the day; but he kept staring at her through the glass door, leaning against the tree, his hands crossed. None of the customers mentioned him, probably assuming he’s simply waiting for someone; and she did her best to avoid him with her eyes, foolishly hoping for him to disappear if she ignores him for long enough.

Unfortunately - he didn’t.

As soon as she locked the door behind her to go home for the night - she sensed his presence behind her. It gave her chills; but she forced herself to conceal it, as she turned around and walked past him, pretending he’s not there, or maybe that he’s just a random passerby, and not a bloodhound, making sure she can’t escape her hellish predicament.

Without a word, he followed her home; for a moment, she considered using the same shortcut she tried to use when he ambushed her - but she changed her mind as soon as she glanced towards the alleyway. Her stomach dropped at the mere sight of it, and her breath quickened; she remembered _his hand on her throat and his laughter and her screams and the burning fear-_

“Hey.” Gargan said from behind her. “You can go. I’m not gonna kidnap you the second time.”

“F-fuck off.” she muttered in response, her entire body trembling. “Alright? Fuck off.”

“I can’t.” he said quietly; it sent unpleasant shivers down her spine. “Even if I wanted to… I _can’t._ ”

_even if i WANTED to? what? what? what the fuck does that even MEAN oh my fucking GOD!_

In a desperate attempt at gaining a semblance of freedom - she turned around, swinging her backpack at him.

It hit him in the face; he didn’t react. He also didn’t react as she turned around again and ran off, frantic, burning tears streaming down her face, her breath shaky, her feet hitting the ground as quick as possible - but she knew this isn’t enough. She knew he’s going to be there tomorrow, and the day after; he was always going to be there, for as long as don Macchio needed to make up his mind, holding her down, a silent presence shadowing her, making sure she knows her place.

Her father was reading something in the living room when she came home; she stormed into the apartment, slamming the entrance door shut behind her with enough force to make the kitchen window jitter.

Bartolomeo merely looked up from his book and looked at Frankie from across the room.

“Buona sera, cucciola.” he said, sounding pleasantly confused; and it made Frankie’s blood boil. He was don Cicero’s right hand man, for fuck’s sake. He was competent and intelligent and dangerous - and yet there he was, looking at his trembling daughter, confused as if he couldn’t possibly think of a single reason for her state. “How was your day?”

_fuck you._

“Fucking _great._ ” she barked out, marching towards her room. “That fucking _freak_ Macchio chose to take care of me followed me all day. Oh, but I _did_ sell a fucking _shitload_ of pastries and shit. Got a nice tip. Was fucking _stalked_ by a fucking _Maggia thug._ You know. The usual. Fucking. Shit.” she snarled, slamming her bedroom door against the wall, making small items on her shelves clatter quietly from the impact. “And how was yours, _daddy_?”

“My god, Francesca.” he said disapprovingly as she threw her backpack onto her bed and grabbed a sturdy baseball bat made out of aluminium that she kept next to her nightstand ever since that one time don Costa sent one of his men to have a serious talk with Bartolomeo in the middle of the night a couple years earlier. It was a rather unpleasant night for all of them; luckily ever since Frankie didn’t really have any actual opportunity to use her bat - that, however, was about to change. “What’s gotten into you?!”

She laughed bitterly, gripping the bat’s handle tightly.

“Absolutely fucking _nothing_.” she said, marching out of her room; initially she wanted to simply grab the bat, go outside, find Gargan and bash his skull in - but deep inside she knew she had no chance against him, even angry, even frustrated, even armed. He was strong, and undoubtedly experienced, and a scrawny girl with a baseball bat and practically no fighting experience posed no threat to him; chances were, _she’d_ be the one battered and bruised - and that was not at all what she wanted. What she wanted, what she _craved -_ was mindless, angry destruction; and she found the most perfect target as soon as she turned around, her eyes briefly glancing towards the door to Takeshi’s room.

Takeshi moved out a couple years earlier, declaring it’s _high time for him to become a man_ , to _leave the nest_ , to _live his own life_ \- nevermind the fact Bartolomeo was the one paying all of Takeshi’s bills. Takeshi was a big boy now, a _man_ ; but Kiyomi and Bartolomeo kept his room intact.

And that’s where Frankie was headed.

Bartolomeo only reacted when she was in the middle of bashing the lock with her bat.

“Francesca!” he called out to her. “What on Earth are you doing?!”

“Dealing with my fucking anger issues.” she replied, swinging for one last time; the lock and the knob fell out of the wood, leaving behind a gaping hole; and the door opened, with a quiet creak - and Frankie silently stood in the doorway, looking inside.

The room - albeit dark - looked _exactly_ like she remembered it; and it was infuriating. The fact her parents cherished and cultivated the memory and belongings of Takeshi, who had been hurting her for _years_ \- it made her blood boil and her tears flow. He had practically sold her to don Macchio in exchange for a _car_ , and they ignored it; _oh well,_ she thought, looking at the shelves filled with action figures and books. _Sucks to be whoever’s gonna have to clean all this shit up, I guess._

She gripped the bat, looking around absentmindedly; _do I really want to do it?_

She closed her eyes for a moment; and she groaned angrily when Gargan’s calm, almost disinterested face flashed before her. The fact he seemingly just didn’t _care_ when she screamed at him and attacked him with all her might was _infuriating_ ; it was even _worse_ than her father’s calm acceptance. It almost felt cruel, and it almost felt cold; but what she hated the most - was the fact she even had that thought in the first place. It was her home, and it was her fury aimed at her brother; and Gargan had no place in it.

She swung her bat at Takeshi’s empty fish tank; and she smiled with satisfaction as the glass shattered.

She wrought furious havoc for a short time, swinging her bat with reckless abandon; _that’s for sticking your hand down my pants. That’s for almost drowning me after I refused to kiss you. That’s for making our parents love you so much there’s no love left for me. That’s for selling me out to Macchio,_ she thought, frantically smashing his desk into pieces. _That’s for ever looking at me. That’s for ever touching me. That’s for being my. Fucking. BROTHER._

“Cucciola.” Bartolomeo said, sounding horrified; Frankie quickly turned around and looked at him, her face pale, her eyes red and wet. She bared her teeth, and her hands were shaking; and she could feel a scream building up in her chest, animalistic, piercing, impossibly painful in its helplessness. “What have you _done_?” her father choked out, looking around Takeshi’s destroyed room. 

Frankie let out a bitter snicker.

“What have _I_ done?!” she asked, gripping the bat with both her hands. “What have _I done_?! I’ve done _nothing_. It’s _him._ It’s _him_ who fucked my entire life up. You think he’s gonna _care_? You think it’s gonna make any difference, if you tell him his _psychotic little sister_ wrecked his fucking room?”

Bartolomeo furrowed his brows, and took a hesitant step towards her.

“Don’t come closer.” she warned him; quietly - even though she wanted to _scream._ “Just let me have this one fucking thing, _dad_.”

He took another step; and she swung her bat and hit the nearest wall with a loud, dull _thud_.

“Don’t. Fucking. Come. Closer.” she repeated shakily. “You hear me? I’ll bash your skull in. So keep your fucking distance, _dad_. That’s the only fucking thing you’re good at.”

He froze in place; and Frankie let out a dry, humorless giggle before dropping down to her knees and bashing the bedroom floor with her bat. She was crying, and she finally let out that scream that had been building within her for a while now; and she screamed and she screamed and she screamed, bashing the floor as hard as she could - but it didn’t feel like she was letting anything out. Instead, it felt like she was letting something _in_ ; something heavy and dark, something she didn’t even want to think about. It slipped inside her - and it decided to stay. 

***

The next thing she remembered was someone’s hand on her shoulder; she then ran out of Takeshi’s room, slammed the door to her own room shut - and began to frantically throw everything off the shelves, out of the drawers, out of the closet. She threw her pillow with enough force to rip it open, sending feathers everywhere; and she screamed and she cried and she laughed - until finally collapsing onto her bed and falling asleep.

She woke up briefly a few hours later, only to hear her parents arguing; she smiled bitterly - and fell asleep again. She hadn’t heard them argue in _years_ ; and it was a weird argument, both of them screaming in a mix of italian, english and japanese - and she really, truly didn’t care enough. Instead, she simply closed her eyes - and dozed right off.

***

The next day she woke up with a mild headache, puffy eyes and almost impossibly sore throat.

She was alone - and there was no sternly worded note waiting for her in the kitchen. The door to Takeshi’s room had been replaced, and when she tried to peek inside - she learned it’s locked.

(She cussed quietly under her breath after realizing she left her bat inside. _Oh well. Guess I’ll just get a new one_. _Or not. Who gives a shit._ )

She took a shower, put on some clean clothes - nothing extravagant, or even _stylish_ , just a very plain tube top with spaghetti straps and a pair of jeans - and forced some breakfast (disgustingly cold and sticky blueberry oatmeal; it was, by all means, disgusting - but it was the only thing she could fathom forcing down her sore throat. The mere thought of eating anything that could irritate it further - like scratchy toast, or anything salty, or anything _hot_ \- made her wince) down her throat; and then it was time for her to go to the bakery.

Gargan - just as she predicted - was waiting for her outside; and she groaned and rolled her eyes, immediately recognizing the small part of him she could see from inside the building.

_Fucking hell. What does he do at night anyway? Does he go home? Huh. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t give a shit. Maybe I can do whatever the fuck I want at night and he won’t be there to do anything about it. Maybe… Maybe I could run away one night. Or maybe he just… Stands there. All night. Maybe he keeps all his shit in his car, like a fucking hobo. Eww. I bet he fucking stinks._

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asked her as she walked past him, keeping her head high and her eyes away from him.

Frankie rolled her eyes.

“Fuck off.” she croaked in response. “Very fucking original, _dickhead_. What, are you going to say the same fucking thing every fucking day? I bet you’re just so fucking _stupid_ your tiny fucking brain can only remember this one fucking thing. _Goin’ somewhere?_ ” she repeated mockingly, doing her best to imitate his voice. “Fuck off. Read a fucking book, you fucking weirdo. That is, if you even know how to _read_.”

“Sounds like _someone_ had a rough night.” he replied, sounding completely unimpressed and infuriatingly blase. “You want some menthol drops? They do wonders to sore throats.”

“Fuck off.” she replied automatically. “Actually, no. Give me those drops.” she said, suddenly halting in place and turning her head slightly to look at him.

He shrugged, nodded and reached into his pocket; he fished out a slightly tarnished bag of Halls menthol drops and handed it to her; and Frankie immediately threw it into the nearest puddle ( _why are there ALWAYS puddles in New York?_ ) and stomped on it aggressively, smashing its contents into smithereens. 

“Fucking _choke_ on your fucking _menthol drops._ ” she snarled at Gargan, who watched her in complete silence. “You pathetic fucking _freak._ ”

“Hey, I’m just tryin’ to be nice.” he said with a shrug; and Frankie laughed bitterly - although in her state it sounded more like a dry cackle.

“You _kidnapped_ me, you fucking _dickhead._ ” she said, flipping him off. “ _You_ took me to Macchio. And I’ll never forgive you for that. So kindly take your fucking menthol drops, shove them up your ass, shit them out, take that shit and fucking _choke on it._ And believe me - I’ll be _laughing_ at your funeral. I’ll fucking dance on your fucking grave.”

“But at least you’ll _be_ there.” he said with a shrug; and it made Frankie’s blood boil. it made her see red. It made her want to _really_ hurt him; to cut him open. To make him bleed, to rip his heart out, to really make him _scream._ “So… That’s someth-”

She interrupted him with a swift punch, her fist slamming into his face like it was a piece of a stubborn dough. Then she slammed her right knee between his legs, and began to repeatedly hit him in the head with her backpack.

“ _FUCK OFF!_ ” she screamed, angry, frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks. “ _LEAVE ME ALONE!_ ”

She could see a small crowd of disoriented bystanders forming around them; but she didn’t care. All that mattered was hurting Gargan, making him scream, making him disappear.

He reached out to grab her, and she screamed, feeling his fingers wrapping around her wrist; his touch _burned_.

She hit him one last time, this time aiming for the side of his head, instead of his face; and thankfully - it caused him to let go of her trembling hand.

Immediately, she dropped her backpack, turned around and ran away, frantically pushing the bystanders away, almost tripping, almost falling down. She ran without looking, without thinking, burning, angry tears streaming down her face; until finally - she found herself at the bakery, where she finally fell down to her knees and gave in to the desperate need to cry. She pounded at the floor with her fists, her wrist still burning from Gargan’s grip; and she wailed, and she sobbed, and she screamed.

“WHY ISN’T ANYONE EVEN _TRYING_ TO HELP ME?!” she screamed out finally, her throat raw, her hands bruised. “THIS ISN’T NORMAL! I WANT OUT, I FUCKING WANT OUT!”

Someone tapped at the bakery’s window; and Frankie froze behind the counter.

_oh, shit. fuck. it should be open by now. fucking hell._

“Go away!” she said, peeking out from behind the counter. “We-we’re closed!”

Her eyes were burning, and her vision was blurry - but even despite the tears she recognized Gargan’s - admittedly slightly blurry - hulking figure behind the window.

“ _Fuck._ ” she groaned; she returned to her previous position, hoping that he didn’t notice her, hoping that he’ll just go away. She was feeling a bit weird - as if she cried and screamed all emotions out of her body. It was an odd, slightly dizzy, a bit suffocating kind of calm - but she was _calm_. Her eyes were burning, and her throat was sore, but she was calm. “Jesus fucking Christ. I should’ve pushed him. Maybe he’d get hit by a car.”

Moments later - she heard the characteristic sound of someone turning the key in the delivery entrance door’s lock; and she groaned again, hiding her face in her hands. The delivery entrance was located at the back of the building, in the very corner of the kitchen, away from the kneading and decorating stations; it wasn’t used very often, since Frankie turned out to be rather good at long-term management of supplies; but it was there - and only two people had keys that opened it.

Up until Gargan entered the bakery, Frankie had hoped it’s simply her mother, dropping by after being notified by one of the regular customers that the bakery’s still closed.

“You know I could _see_ you through the window, right?” he asked, after entering the main room, where Frankie was still sitting. “You blew your own cover.”

“Fuck off.” she replied, feeling more resigned, than angry. With a faint sting of satisfaction, she noticed Gargan was now sporting a very noticeable black eye. “I don’t want to talk to you, is that so fucking _hard_ to understand?”

He sighed.

“Let’s make a deal.” he said, squatting down in front of her; and she groaned and looked away, firmly refusing to look at his - actually stupidly handsome, which only added salt to the injury of her situation - face from such a small distance. “A friend of my friend’s a shrink, and he owes me a favor. A big one. And I was savin’ it in case I ever need any dirt on one of his patients, but… I bet I can get him to squeeze you into his schedule.”

“Are _you_ calling _me_ a _psycho_?” she asked in utter disbelief. “You… You’re fucking _insane._ You _kidnapped me._ _You’re_ one of the reasons I’m in this shit. It’s _you_ who should see a therapist, not _me._ ”

He shrugged; and it was infuriating - but she just couldn’t be bothered to punch him again, or to even raise her voice.

“That’s true.” he said. “Except I’m not the reason for your _other_ problems. Your bro selling you out, your parents not giving a shit, you bein’ frustrated with your life… That’s not _my_ fault.”

“You _kidnapped_ me.” she repeated. “ _You_ don’t have _any_ say here.”

“I’m not done talkin’ yet. I’ll make you an appointment. Go there. Talk to that guy. Let it all out, see if maybe he can like… I dunno. Help you out. Do that… And I’ll fuck off. I’ll still _be_ there, but… You won’t even _see_ me. Deal?”

_huh._

“Deal.” she said without hesitation. “Wait. You’re not gonna snoop through the… Therapy records, or whatever they call this stuff, right?”

He shrugged again.

“I’m not interested in your personal life.” he said finally. “The only thing that matters to me is makin’ sure you don’t mysteriously vanish one day. Nothin’ more and nothin’ less. And I think you’re smart enough to know you’re not gonna be able to outsmart a Maggia don.”

“Your don was stupid enough to trust my brother.” she shot back. “So maybe he _is_ dumb enough for me to outsmart him. How hard could it _possibly_ be?” she said mockingly, despite already having made her mind.

“So do you take the deal, or not?”

“I already said I do, you idiot. What, did you forget _already_?” she shot back, staring at him, hoping to elicit _any_ sign of annoyance or anger from him; but, much to her disappointment - his face remained perfectly calm. His thin lips didn’t twitch, and his dark eyes didn’t light up with anger; and she could very clearly see his black eye and a bruise on the left cheek, both left by her. “Make that fucking appointment. And don’t speak to me again.”

“Cool.” he said, getting up from the floor; he quite literally towered over her, and she had to really cock her head upwards to look at him. “Before I take up my vow of silence though… You want some menthol drops?”

“Didn’t I _just_ dump them into a puddle?”

He shrugged.

“I bought a new pack of ‘em.” he said, rummaging through his pockets. “And I’m willing to share. Sharing is caring, or somethin’.”

“Fine.” she croaked with resignation.

He handed her a fresh bag of menthol drops, and she popped one into her mouth wincing when it touched her tongue. It tasted gross - like sickly sweet, menthol-scented ice - but it _did_ soothe her sore throat.

In the next room, Gargan was talking to someone over the phone.

“Yeah, it’s me. I wanted to call in that _favor_ you owe… Nah, I don’t need money. Listen, boss told me to take care of Moretti’s girl. Yeah, that Moretti. Anyway, I’m gonna need you to talk to her. Do your magic. Uh huh. Today. Fantastic. See you around.”

“You’ve got an off the books appointment around nine with Goldstein.” he said, coming back into the main room. “He’s not gonna charge you. His secretary’s not gonna see you. No one’s gonna know about it.”

“Cool.” she said, not looking up from her phone; she knew who _Goldstein_ is. Every Maggia kid knew him, or at least _about_ him; he specialized in cases of people raised around Maggia, having warped perceptions of reality, of loyalty, of love. From what she’ve heard, he was also good at taking care of people who unfortunately ended up being mixed up in Maggia business, and made it out alive and scarred; allegedly, Goldstein himself went through Maggia-related hell as a kid - so he unfortunately knew exactly what it’s like to one day wake up and realize you’re drowning in shit. Due to the nature of his job, every don wanted access to Goldstein’s files, as they’d undoubtedly offer a valuable insight into many operations - but he never gave in. Some said he was under Wilson Fisk’s protection; some others said Goldstein was protected by every single don simultaneously. “Talk to you never. Now get out of here.” 

“Uh uh.” he muttered, heading towards the door; and Frankie sighed with relief, hearing him leave. After a few minutes, she peeked out from behind the counter; and sighed again, noticing there’s no sign of him outside. She knew better than to lie to herself, than to think he _really_ left her alone; she knew he’s out there _somewhere_ , watching her every move - but at the very least he was out of her sight.

***

“ _You’re very quiet. You still there?_ ”

“ _Huh? Yeah, I just… I don’t really know what to say._ ”

“ _Oh, now that’s a shocker._ ”

“ _You really hated him at first._ ”

“ _Hm?_ ”

“ _Scorps. You… Really hated him._ ”

“ _Ah. Yeah, I guess… I guess I did._ ”

***

After Gargan left, Frankie opened the store, and spent rest of her day as usual - waiting for customers. Selling pastries. Making notes of what she sold, what she needs to restock, how much she wishes her mother would simply hire another person and put _them_ in charge of baking and chopping and kneading. Frankie would be more than happy to be delegated to _just_ serving the customers, and not having to enter the baking area at all; but unfortunately - she had no say in that matter.

Either way - rest of her day was fairly uneventful. She sold some pastries, did some stuff at the baking area, cleaned herself up a bit and locked the place up and left, ready to go to her therapy appointment. To be honest, she didn’t feel very excited about telling a complete stranger the story of her life so far - but it was either this, or being forced to bear Gargan’s presence again. Plus - she figured she might as well simply make something up; something cliche, something typical. _My dad works for the mob and I’m so stressed because of it I can barely function. I think my mom might have an affair with someone from another Maggia family and it’s freaking me out. I want out of the family business._ Something like that.

“Shit.” she muttered under her breath after fishing her iPhone out of her pocket and realizing the battery’s dead. She didn’t know Goldstein’s address, and she couldn’t even call a cab and leave figuring the address out to the driver. She was on her own - unless, of course…

She sighed deeply, looking around, searching for any sign of Gargan.

One of the cars parked nearby - black, rather inconspicuous, except for tinted windows and windshields - was on; and Frankie sighed again, recognizing the car Gargan drove her home in after previous week’s ordeal.

“You forgot to give me the address, you fuck.” she said, opening the car’s door; Gargan quickly turned his head to look at her, and she raised her eyebrows, seeing him reach for a gun with his free hand. His other hand was occupied with a cup of coffee - and in his lap she spotted a half-eaten bagel. “Aww.” she added mockingly, as he slowly moved his hand away from the gun, resting atop of the dashboard. “C’mon, you fucking _coward_. Shoot me. Shoot me, and tell your fucking boss what you did to one of his associates in waiting. I bet he’s gonna be real happy about it.”

Gargan rolled his eyes, swallowing whatever he had been chewing.

“Here.” he said, handing her Goldstein’s business card. “Now, since you’re here… You need a ride?”

She took a step back, and looked around again; there were no cabs nearby. And her phone was dead. And Goldstein’s clinic was located a few blocks away - about two blocks more than she felt like crossing on foot.

“Yeah.” she said, swallowing her pride. “Jesus. Your car’s a fucking _mess._ ” she added, looking at the front passenger seat; it was cluttered with a pile of stuff - books, notepads, empty bottles, sandwich wrappers, a thick, heavy-looking wallet and an open bag of chocolate chip cookies. Generic brand, that tasted like dust and wax, thanks to dusty flour and cheap chocolate; Frankie hated them even more than she hated baking - which is why she never ate store-bought chocolate chip cookies, and instead baked her own. “You can get cancer from those.” she said, picking the bag up. “You should eat some more.”

“Uh-huh.” he muttered, gathering the stuff that cluttered the seat; _not fast enough,_ she decided.

She quickly dumped all the things onto the car’s floor. Before Gargan said anything - she sat down and propped her feet up, until the slightly muddy soles of her sneakers almost touched the windshield.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s _go_.” she urged him; and winced when he opened his mouth. “Nuh-uh-uh. Be quiet, Gargan. You _promised_ to not talk to me if I take your stupid deal. And I took it. So… Not a word.”

He rolled his eyes again; but he remained silent - and Frankie grinned with satisfaction, ignoring the faint stings of disappointment deep within her. _Why won’t he fucking argue with me? Why won’t he YELL AT ME? WHY WON’T ANYONE ACKNOWLEDGE ANYTHING I’M FUCKING FEELING?_

She took a bite of a cookie, doing her best to silence the voice within her, to make it go away. Just as she expected, it tasted a bit like dust and a bit like wax; sickly sweet and overly crumbly, it was a thoroughly underwhelming experience.

She threw the half eaten cookie at Gargan; it hit him in the cheek - and he remained stoically silent and calm, not taking his eyes off the read even for a moment - and Frankie fought off the urge to threw the entire bag at him, deciding she’s not feeling particularly enthusiastic about dying in a car crash this could plausibly lead to.

So instead - she opened the window and tossed the bag outside.

“I thought you want me to get cancer and die.” Gargan said after a moment; Frankie scoffed.

“I want you to get cancer and die by my hand.” she informed him, crossing her arms on her chest. “Also, shut up. I don’t want to hear you.”

“Tough luck. The deal we made only kicks in _after_ you’ve talked to Goldstein.” he said, turning his head to look at her briefly; and Frankie gritted her teeth, knowing he’s right. “So. How was your day?”

“Get fucked.”

“Figures.” he muttered, pulling up on the sidewalk in front of a tall building. “We’re here. Goldstein’s residing on the fifth floor. Also, I’ll be here if you decide you want a ride home.”

“In your fucking _dreams,_ you fucking _psycho._ ” she snarled, getting out of the car.

***

Goldstein’s small private clinic consisted of two cozy, brightly lit rooms - the bigger one served as both a reception and a waiting room, while the smaller one was where the elusive therapist actually took his patients.

“Good evening, miss.” Goldstein greeted her after opening the door almost immediately after she rang the bell. “Can I help you?”

“I have… An _appointment._ ” Frankie said hesitantly, looking at him; he was taller than her, but shorter than Gargan, and seemed to be in his late fifties. He had olive skin, dark eyes hidden behind a pair of thick, rectangular glasses that rested atop of a majestic Roman nose and wavy, dark brown, chin-length hair with silver streaks here and there. Somehow, he looked exactly the way she’d imagine a _therapist involved with the Maggia_ to look - but his eyes were too warm, and his smile was too friendly to possibly belong to someone like don Macchio, or don Costa. He seemed friendly, and inconspicuous, and harmless - and it terrified her, because by then she already knew how the world works. The more inconspicuous someone seemed, the more dangerous they were; and Goldstein looked like someone you’d _want_ to spill your secrets to. You’d _want_ to tell him all about your father, who’s a lieutenant, or a capo, or maybe even a consigliere - and then you’d _want_ to tell him how much your father’s sudden death affected you. 

Goldstein nodded solemnly.

“You must be Bartolomeo Moretti’s girl.” he said, stepping aside. “Gargan told me about you. Please, come in.”

He had a pleasant, slightly raspy, low voice and spoke with a strong, New York accent; he sounded exactly like every single one of her father’s associates she ever spoke to.

“That’d be me.” she said with a shrug, walking past him and glancing around. “What favor _exactly_ do you owe Gargan anyway?”

“It’s a long story.” he said with a sigh, closing and locking the door behind her. “It’s also not something I want to talk about. Instead, I’d much rather talk about _you_. Don’t give me that look.” he added as she turned around to shoot him a surprised and distrustful glare. “That’s how therapy works.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t _need_ therapy.” she shot back, baring her teeth in annoyance. “I’m only here because Gargan said he’ll fuck off if I come here. I just want him off my back. Do you have _any_ idea how fucking _obnoxious_ he is?”

“Do as you please.” he said lightly; and, to be honest - his acceptance of her angry defiance took her aback a little. When she heard the word _therapist,_ she thought of someone unbearably nosy, asking her questions she’d rather never hear; and not someone calm and collected and so weirdly cooperative. “All while I’ll watch you in complete silence, analyzing your every move and drawing outrageous conclusions from the way you cross your legs, or scratch your head.”

_jesus fucking christ._

“Don’t fucking _analyze me_ , you _weirdo_.” she said angrily, clenching her fists. “I’m _not_ one of your fucking weirdo _patients_. I’m only here to get that fucking piece of shit off my back. I don’t want your help. I don’t _need_ your help. The only thing I need right now is an iPhone charger, so I can charge my phone and find my way home.”

“Unfortunately, you’re out of luck. I use an old Nokia. My secretary has an iPhone… But she left an hour ago.”

“Fucking _great._ ” Frankie muttered under her breath. “Alright, I can still get home on my own. No fucking biggie. Where’s this place anyway?”

“Brooklyn Heights.” he informed her, walking towards his office; and Frankie sighed quietly. Brooklyn Heights wasn’t _that_ far away from Tribeca, where she lived - but she still had no idea _where_ to go. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to just… Sit down and have a civilized conversation?”

“Get _fucked_.” she shot back, plopping down onto the nearest couch. “If I needed a therapist, I’d go to one by _myself_.”

She started to rummage through her backpack, to make sure she doesn’t have a forgotten, at least partially loaded powerbank, or a charger - but all she found was an almost empty water bottle, a small box of bobby pins, a lot of crumpled up receipts and her wallet. Inside it she had her ID, her father’s credit card and some paper clips - which gave her an idea; a very simple one, that boiled down to _sneaking out of the building through the - probably locked, but that’s where my bobby pins and paper clips come in - fire exit, finding an ATM, getting some cash, finding a cab and going home and leaving Gargan behind and hopefully never seeing him again, since technically I kept my end of the bargain. Telling someone to fuck off does count as a conversation._

“At the very least… May I ask what happened to get you in such trouble even Mac got involved?” Goldstein asked, bringing her back to Earth, snapping her out of her plans. “Is he… Your bodyguard?”

Frankie laughed bitterly.

“A _bodyguard?_ More like a fucking _watchdog._ ” she said, rolling her eyes. “My piece of shit of a brother fucking scratched Macchio’s car, and offered _me_ as a payment. And that’s where that fucking _oaf_ Gargan comes in. After all, _someone_ has to make sure I don’t disappear under mysterious circumstances, or I don’t get someone to, I don’t know, _fucking help me get out of this fucking mess._ ”

“Ah.” he said softly. “That’s… Unfortunate.”

“It’s a fucking _disaster_. Macchio fucking _branded me_. And now I have that giant fucking _moron_ following me around.” she said, for a moment putting her bag down and deciding there _are_ some things she can safely tell him; surface level things. Things he’d find out on his own anyway, provided he asked the right questions in the right circles. Things like _my brother works for don Macchio,_ or _I am Macchio’s associate-in-waiting_. Obvious things.

***

“ _Except back then I hadn’t realized that Goldstein was… Really good at his job. He watched. He listened. He… Apparently he figured out a lot from the way I talked. He connected my swearing with lots and lots of pent up anger, and the repetitive usage of FUCK with helplessness, and how I almost immediately opened up to him with daddy issues._ ”

“ _Huh. It… Almost sounds dehumanizing. Like you weren’t a human to him, but a… Character, analyzed during an English class in high school._ ”

“ _Goldstein had a master’s degree in English literature. Also… I guess therapists always have to dehumanize their patients a bit. You know. To look at things from the outside, and to see patterns and mechanisms that are textbook… But hard to notice when you’re looking at a human, someone you empathize with. You have to… You have to flatten the other person in your head to notice certain things._ ”

“ _I wonder if that’s why Rhino’s so hellbent on turning me into a crêpe._ ”

“ _...this is not why Rhino is always trying to flatten you. I think Rhink couldn’t possibly care less about your mental wellbeing._ ”

_“Ya think? Aw, shucks.”_

***

In the end, she did attempt to go out through the back door; she ranted to Goldstein for about forty minutes. She gathered her things. She rode the elevator, and - once on the ground floor - found her way to the back of the building, where the fire exit was located.

The door was locked; but despite the building clearly being occupied exclusively by expensive therapists and accountants and lawyers and god knows who else - it utilized a surprisingly basic, ridiculously easy to pick lock. All it took was a couple minutes, two straightened paper clips and three bobby pins - and the doors swung open and she left, feeling almost ridiculously proud of herself.

Rationally, she _knew_ this is not going to make Gargan vanish from her life - he knew where she lived and where she worked, after all. But, during the next fifteen or twenty minutes - it didn’t matter. He didn’t know where she was. He didn’t follow her every move with those weird, soulful eyes of his. She was _free_. _Free_ like a chipped bird; _free_ like a tagged manta ray.

After a few minutes of walking, she found an ATM, located next to the entrance to a bank; and just as she was about to put a freshly cashed out hundred bucks into her wallet - someone ran up to her and snatched her open wallet and unzipped backpack out of her hands.

“HEY!” she screamed, turning around and giving chase. “GET BACK HERE, YOU FUCK!”

The thief - whose face she hadn’t even _seen_ \- jumped into a car waiting nearby; the car drove away before she managed to as much as _attempt_ to register its color, or model, not to mention memorizing its plates. They were gone moments later - and she was left penniless and without her ID, feeling frustrated and completely, utterly helpless.

“FUCK!” she screamed in helpless anguish, trying to hold back her tears, trying to not _sob_. “SHIT!”

She fell down to her knees and hid her face in her hands, her whole body trembling; and just as she was about to succumb to despair - someone put their hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of the darkness she was slipping into.

“C’mon, miss.” someone said as she moved her hands away from her face and looked up. “They’re gone, but I saw everything.” the man - middle aged, gray haired and sporting an impressive mustache - said, sounding both solemn and gentle. “Everyone at the bank saw what happened. We’ll call the police, tell them what happened. They’ll find those lowlifes in no time.”

“I don’t want fucking _cops_ involved in my fucking _business_.” she shot back harshly, shaking his hand off her shoulder. Ever since she was a child, her parents - mostly her father - taught her to only ever trust cops that were bought by either her, or her family. Anyone else could potentially be on someone else’s payroll; and that _someone’s_ best interests could very well mean danger for her.

***

“ _Really gives me the creeps how just a few years ago Maggia practically… Ran this town._ ”

“ _And then the world changed. And the dons kind of… Refused to get on with the times. The number of their soldiers dwindled, their territories shrank, their influence faltered… Only the money remained. And money just doesn’t cut it these days. Money can’t buy real influence, and people… People just aren’t afraid of the Maggia like they used to be.”_

“ _Heh. You… Sound a bit like Hammerhead._ ”

“ _Well, I was raised in a prominent Maggia family. Back in the day I could just call one of the blue boys that were on my dad’s payroll and… Tell them to do shit._ ”

“ _So how come you didn’t want the cops involved that day_ ”

“ _I was angry, Spider-Man. I wasn’t thinking straight. Plus… I had no guarantee of my case being assigned to someone I could trust. And believe me, Spider-Man - back in the day the news of Bartolomeo Moretti’s credit card and his daughter’s phone being stolen was something that should be kept secret._ ”

***

“Sure thing, miss.” the man said, sounding a bit taken aback. “But… I have to call the police. I’m… I’m _obliged_.”

“I don’t give a shit.” she shot back, getting up and brushing the dust off her pants. “Wait.You work at the bank?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

“Call me a cab.” she said, already marching towards the bank’s entrance. “I need to get home and tell my parents what happened.”

“But miss, the police-”

“Shut up about the cops!” she exclaimed angrily, turning around to face the - visibly confused - man. “You can call them once I’m gone. For all I care, you can even tell them I’ve put a gun to your head and told you to not call them while I’m here _or else_.”

“...alright.” he said, sounding a bit taken aback. “But… Are you alright, miss?”

“Believe me, if I were hurt… _Everyone_ would know. I’m just _super_ pissed and kinda hungry.” she said, looking at him over her shoulder. “So I just wanna get home and tell my parents I need a new phone.”

The security guard called her a cab, and she got home about thirty minutes later; she didn’t even have to worry about paying for the ride, as some nice elderly woman who was at the bank when Frankie was robbed handed her a fifty dollar bill, telling her to _go home, sweetie._

(Frankie’s throat tightened weirdly from that act of kindness; and her eyes felt weirdly watery, so she simply choked out a quick _thanks_ and turned around as fast as possible, doing her best to appear distant.)

The driver - luckily - didn’t try to make conversation with her, probably sensing her bad mood; and soon enough - she was home.

Or rather - she entered the apartment building, immediately turning towards the security booth.

“Good evening, miss Moretti.” the guard on duty - a middle aged, stout man named Thomas - greeted her, putting down his newspaper. “How can I help you?”

“Are my parents home? I… Need to talk to them.”

“I’m not sure, miss, I only started my shift an hour ago… And I certainly hadn’t seen either of them coming in or going out. Hold on. I’ll just buzz your apartment…” he muttered, already pressing the buttons on the intercom; and she smiled lightly. She had always liked him; he was polite, helpful - and always seemed to mind his own business, not saying anything when he saw her doing the walk of shame, or sneaking into the building, completely _wasted_ after a night out with friends. “Good evening, mister Moretti.” he said into the speaker. “Miss Frankie wanted to know if you’re home. I’ll send her upstairs now.”

“Actually, can you give me the spare key to my apartment? I… Well… I _lost_ mine _._ ” she choked out when he turned his dark eyes back to her; and he simply nodded, already taking both the key and the form for her to fill and sign out of his drawer.

“Put the date here, and the reason here…” he said, pointing at various places on the page with a pen. “And sign here… Also, I’m obliged to remind you the spare key is for temporary use only.”

“I know.” she said, quickly filling the form and grabbing the key. “Thanks, Tom!” 

She turned around and walked away before he said anything; and moments later - she was home.

She opened the door and went inside, hoping for for father to maybe show some concern, to maybe be interested in what had lead to her coming home so late, without her backpack, without her keys, to maybe ask why did she ask the security guard if there’s anyone home; but immediately she realized she had hoped in vain.

She said “I’m home!” - and in response her father only waved his hand at her dismissively, continuing his phone call.

It hurt.

It also made her angry.

_fucking FINE. i fucking hope that fucking piece of shit lowlife who robbed me fucking enjoys your fucking credit card, you fucking DICKHEAD._

She pursed her lips; and went to bed without telling her father about being robbed. She didn’t tell her mother either, even though the robber took the keys to her bakery that were at the bottom of Frankie’s backpack; but Frankie didn’t care. She had a spare set of keys in her drawer; so what if the guy decided to break into the bakery overnight? _All the better for me_ , Frankie told herself, falling asleep. _Maybe then mom’ll hire someone else and tell me to stay away. Or maybe she’ll just close it._

_Here’s to hoping._

***

The next morning, just as she was about to leave the building - Thomas called out to her.

“Here, miss.” he said, handing her her own backpack, much to her surprise. “A man came by last night and asked me to give you this. He also asked to _keep it on the down low._ ”

“Thanks.” she said hesitantly, taking a peek inside; it seemed like everything - from her wallet to the bakery keys - was inside; and for some weird, bitter reason - it didn’t make her happy.

_shit. i guess i really hoped to give my parents some trouble, huh._

“And… Can I ask what did that man look like?” she asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“A mighty big fella.” Thomas said with a shrug. “Dark hair, big hands, sounded rough.”

“Shit.” she muttered in response, sighing tiredly. “Fucking _Gargan._ Thanks, Tom. Don’t mention it to my parents.”

“I wasn’t going to say a word about it to them anyway.” he said with a sigh. “Be safe, miss.”

Frankie laughed bitterly, turned around and left; and her vision was weirdly blurry and her eyes felt weirdly wet and hot and there was a weird lump forming in her throat. _Be safe, miss_ the security guard told her; and why, for fuck’s sake, _why_ did it almost make her _cry_?

***

“ _He sounds… Nice._ ”

“ _He was._ ”

“ _Was?_ ”

“ _Cancer._ ”

“ _I’m… Sorry to hear that._ ”

“ _Don’t be. He was just… He was just a security guard. A polite guy, who told me to be safe after some shady dude, drenched in blood, gave him my things and said - give it to her. And don’t mention me being covered in blood. She already thinks I’m a monster. She doesn’t have to know._ ”

“ _...what?_ ”

“ _Mac told me he… Found the guy who robbed me. Turns out, there was two of them - the runner and the driver. They found the bakery keys in my stuff. The keys were labeled. They found the address and wanted to rob the place… And Mac found them. And… Well…_ ”

“ _He killed them._ ”

“ _He only killed the runner, actually. He only… He only beat the driver up, and dropped him off in a random part of town._ ”

“ _Jesus. Now that’s Mac Gargan I know and… Ugh. Appreciate. Yeah. That’s the word._ ”

***

For whatever reason - Gargan really kept his end of the bargain. He wasn’t waiting for her outside; and the sudden lack of his towering, obnoxious presence made her stop and look around in quiet confusion, the frustrated _get fucked!_ she was ready to hurl in response to his greeting fizzing out slowly in her throat. She had already grown used to his unwanted presence, his obnoxious quips and impossibly _annoying_ voice - and suddenly… He was gone.

“What the fuck?” she muttered under her breath, looking around, clutching her backpack tightly; she looked around searching for his familiar form, or at least his car - but found nothing, nothing except for other people, who were most definitely _not_ Gargan. She was sure he knows at least the basics of disguising himself, considering his line of work; but she was also sure she’d recognize his bulky shape anyway - and yet, everyone she could see looked… Decidedly unlike him. “Shit.” she breathed out, cracking a dry smile. “Good fucking riddance, you fucking _freak._ ”

He wasn’t there when she left to go home either. And he wasn’t waiting for her the next morning.

He really, genuinely kept his end of the bargain; and she couldn’t be happier.

***

The happiness his absence had brought her started to slowly diminish after about two weeks.

She didn’t _miss_ him - of course she didn’t; back then she barely even remembered his name, and all she really knew about him was that he works for the Maggia and is a dick - but she sort of missed what his _presence_ brought her.

Every day she woke up feeling disappointed, and angry; and she _wished_ she had someone to take it all out on. Every day she felt miserable, and lonely, and every time she had to serve a customer, or knead a new batch of dough, or fold the puff pastry again she could feel a _scream_ building up inside of her; a raw, ear-piercing howl of pure anguish. She _hated_ that bakery, and she _hated_ the customers, and she _hated_ going on MySpace and seeing her high school friends talking about their college classes, and she _hated_ feeling like she’s in a bubble with diamond walls; transparent. Thin. Unbreakable.

And with Gargan - towering, intimidating, quiet, his eyes dark and indiscernible - around, waiting for her outside of the apartment building, and outside the bakery… She finally had an outlet.

She could scream, punch him, kick him - and it was never enough to harm him. It was never enough to make him retaliate in any way. It was never enough for him to _acknowledge_ it; but it was enough for her to feel just a little bit lighter. 

And now, once again - she suddenly had no outlet for all the negative emotions plaguing her. She could angrily knead some brioche dough, or shoot someone in _Call of Duty_ ; but it wasn’t _enough._ Back when she was a child she used to practice karate in her mother’s cousin’s martial arts school, and she used to play soccer with Angelo’s baby brother and their designated Maggia friends, and in high school she used to be in her school’s track and field team; but now all she had was kneading and playing video games.

And all that anger kept piling up inside her quietly; until one evening - she _exploded._

***

“Are you fucking _insane_?!” she screamed out at her mother. “I don’t _want_ you there!”

“Watch your tongue, _cucciola_!” Bartolomeo warned her before Kiyomi - visibly shocked - said anything. "Show your mother some _respect_."

Frankie let out a frustrated shriek.

" _Respect_?!" she repeated. "Are you fucking _kidding me_?! She fucking makes me work my fingers to the bone every fucking day at _her fucking bakery_! I didn't go to fucking _college_ because of her! And for _what_?! I hadn't even heard a fucking _thank you_! And now she thinks she can just _hang out_ with me like we're _friends_?!"

"I'm trying to make an effort!" Kiyomi protested quietly; her bottom lip was quivering and when Frankie looked at her mother's pale face all she wanted was to slap her as hard as she could. Her dark, soft eyes were full of tears, and she had her arms crossed and her palms pressed tighly to her shoulders in a pathetic act of giving herself some undeserved comfort in the face of her daughter's righeous fury; she looked fragile - and Frankie _hated_ her for it. "I- I want-"

"You fucking want to _manipulate me_." Frankie shot back through gritted teeth. "I'm going out - _without you_."

Half an hour earlier Frankie had informed her parents she's going out to have a girls' night out with her friends at their favorite club; it was going to be just the five of them, a lot of shots and hopefully - some handsome guys willing to accompany them. It was just going to be a fun night, something Frankie desperately needed after days upon days of working her ass off.

And then - her mother cheerfully announced she's going too.

Frankie lost her temper about five minutes later.

"I _don't want_ you there!" she repeated, clenching her fists angrily. " _None_ of us does. In fact, I'm pretty fucking sure they all fucking _hate you_." she continued, deciding to hurl words in lieu of throwing a knife. What she was saying wasn't actually true; her friends - except for Angelo - actually _liked_ her mother.

But they didn't know her the way _she_ knew her.

* * *

_"This sounds... Familiar."_

_"Hm?"_

_"Your friends didn't know your mother the way you knew her. I don't know Scorps the way you know him. Seems like... People generally don't get to know people in your life the way you know them."_

_"Well, obviously. That's a universal truth of life - the image of another person you have in your head is unique. And no one's ever gonna know other people the way you know them. Perception is everything."_

_"I don't think this is purely about perception. Everything's relative, yes - but also some things just... Are. Indisputable. Absolute."_

_"That's a bold statement coming from someone like you."_

_"Should I feel offended?"_

_"Depends. Do you want that remark to be offensive?"_

_"No. But I can't help but feel like you're wasting my time here."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"You're engaging me in a witty, intellectual back-and-forth instead of actually talking about your mother."_

_"...you started it."_

* * *

"Cucciola, I'm growing _tired_ of you acting like a _child._ " Bartolomeo said sternly. "What's gotten into you, for god's sake? You're _twenty._ So act like it."

"Well I fucking _am_ acting my age." Frankie barked out in response. " _I'm_ not the person trying to go clubbing with people _half my fucking age._ "

"You know you're always welcome to tag along with me to meet my friend.s" Kiyomi added hastily; and Frankie let out a bitter chuckle.

"I work _eight_ to fucking _ten_ at _your fucking bakery six fucking days a week_!" she screamed out in response. "And you think I want to fucking _meet your fucking friends_?! Get drunk on fucking _wine_?! Listen to you and Costa's fucking Lady in White of a wife bitch about how fucking _boring_ your lives are?!"

"Enough!" Bartolomeo stated firmly as Kiyomi turned around, hiding her face in her hands; oh, Frankie _hated_ it. Her mother did that whenever she knew she was losing an argument; and it made Frankie want to shake her, shake until her head fell off her neck. "Cucciola, your mother-"

"-can fucking speak for herself, _dad._ " Frankie interrupted him, baring her teeth in annoyance. "But she'd rather _die_ than fucking _talk to me_. Oh, _shut up._ " she added seeing her father opening his mouth. "I'm _leaving._ Without her. And who knows!" she added mockingly as Bartolomeo took Kiyomi in his arms. "Maybe I won't come back. Maybe I'll fuck some random guy. Let him shoot his fucking _load_ straight into my _womb_."

Neither of them replied; they didn't even as much as _look_ at her, too busy with their spectacle of _poor shaken Kiyomi and brave Bartolomeo cradling her in his arms._

Frankie let out one final frustrated groan and left, slamming the door shut on her way out; and a short while later - she was in Deep End.

Deep End was a perfectly average, high class nightclub; it was located in a rich neighborhood. It was big, its walls were painted dark blue and its interiors were sleek, minimalist and modern. The bar inside was colorful and brightly lit; and the bouncers were all tall, muscular and almost too friendly.

Frankie's friends - Delphine Costa, Tonya Cicero and Mina Karnelli- were waiting for her outside; Tonya - a plump, short, black girl with a mass of long, tight curls cascading off her shoulders - noticed her first.

"There she is!" she said as Frankie walked up to the group. "Finally. We were about to head in without you."

"And that'd mean you had to deal with the bouncer _alone._ " Mina - tall, black haired and a bit darker skinned than Frankie - giggled, shaking her head. "Remember Tony? He's on duty tonight."

"Ah, _fuck._ " Frankie muttered, looking towards the entrance; and indeed, there he was, in all his muscular glory: Tony Higgins.

* * *

_"Oh wow. Didn't he work with Scorps on one of his first big heists?"_

_"Tony? Yeah."_

_"And wasn't **he** the police's mole on the inside?"_

_"Also yeah. Wait, do you really remember the names of all the goons and thugs you fought?"_

_"Ha! I wish. No, I remember Tony because he used to be a big name among Macchio's men."_

_"...right."_

* * *

"Sup, Frankie." Tony said when the girls approached him; and Frankie stifled a groan. She _really_ hoped he wasn't going to talk to her after she ignored him for two months straight; but apparently - two months of not responding to texts, not answering the phone and even straight up blocking him online didn't send a strong enough message. "Been a while."

"Uh-huh." she muttered in response, pretending to look for something in her purse. "Hey, uh, does anyone have a tampon?"

"Give me a call once you're off your period, babe." Tony said, sounding rather unphased; and Frankie gritted her teeth silently when he followed his words with a sleazy smirk and an even sleazier wink.

Her friends laughed; and as soon as they entered the building and were out of Tommy's earshot - Frankie shoved her elbow into Mina's ribs.

"What was _that_ for?!" Mina asked, even though she was still grinning.

"Fucking _Tony._ " Frankie groaned out in response. " _Jesus._ "

"So... What's up with the two of you?" Tonya asked as the girls reached their private table at the back of the club. "I thought you're into him."

"That's because I _was_. But then... We hooked up." Frankie replied with a sigh. "For starters, yeah. The stories were true, and he _does,_ in fact, have a _massive_ cock. But you know what _else_ he has?"

"Chlamydia?" Delphine asked, resting her pale chin atop of her even paler hand; and Frankie scoffed.

"I fucking _wish._ " she said, rolling her eyes. "No, he has absolutely _zero_ fucking interest in _foreplay._ It was so fucking bad!" she added, banging her fist against the table as Tonya and Mina covered their mouths to stifle their giggles. "It literally felt like stuffing a turkey with _another_ turkey."

* * *

_"Is this... Absolutely neccessary to the story?"_

_"Yes."_

_" :("_

_"...the fact you just said this out loud really makes me understand why Mackie wanted to skin you alive so badly."_

* * *

"Well, then maybe someone should teach him a lesson." Delphine said as Mina got up to get some drinks for the table; she began to twirl her platin-colored hair around her ghostly pale finger. She got both these traits - light hair and nearly perfectly white skin - from her mother, Ophelie; but at the same time - she got her father's, Frank's, black eyes and naturally bushy, intense eyebrows. "He's hot. I think I'm gonna fuck him."

"Eww, you _whore._ " Frankie exclaimed with a grossed out expression; Delphine laughed. "Are you _serious_?! He looks like your _dad_!"

"Not if I sit on his face. I'm joking!" she added as Frankie stuck her tongue out in disgust. "I'm not gonna fuck him."

"Thank _god._ " Frankie muttered, sinking deeper into the leather-padded seat.

Tony - tall, buff, bald and bearded - _did_ look a lot like Frank Costa; and that was mostly why Frankie hooked up with him in the first place. Sure, he lacked Costa's semi-permanent scowl, and his eyes weren't nearly half as piercing, and he almost never wore perfectly cut suits... But if the room was dark, and her eyes were partially closed, and he didn't talk - it was enough.

(In a way, Frank Costa was her first crush, one that didn't seem to go away; and as a child - she often fantasized about being his wife. It all began one afternoon, when Ophelie - Frank's _actual_ wife and Delphine's mother - was babysitting her as Bartolomeo and Kiyomi were out; and suddenly - don Costa entered the apartment, followed by about fifteen armed men.

"Pardon me for interrupting, my love." he said as Ophelie got up, putting away the book she was reading to Frankie and Delphine. "But there's... An emergency."

 _My love_ , he called her; and he took her hands into his, and looked at her ever so softly, ever so tenderly, ever so lovingly; and they talked quietly, and he looked at her as if she was a star shower and he saw the sky for the first time in years.)

* * *

_"And only years later I realized... That was the night of the Silver Plaza Massacre."_

_"...what?"_

_"The Silver Plaza Massacre. When Hammerhead and his lackeys slaughtered everyone in the DeCrisco family and took their place."_

_"Ah. Sorry, I'm not an expert on the Maggia history."_

_"Neither am I, but... I was there, Spider-Man. I was there when don Costa evacuated his wife and daughter to safety. People say Frank Costa is a heartless monster ordering hits on innocent families, but... I was there. And I guess... In that moment I just looked at them and went - I want that."_

_"Weren't you like... Five?"_

_"Yeah. As a five year old I decided I want to be loved the way Ophelie Delacroix was loved. Truly. Deeply."_

_"And by a dangerous man?"_

_"Possibly, yeah."_

_"...huh."_

* * *

"Oh _come on_!" Frankie exclaimed as her - or rather her father's - card got declined again. "Are you serious?!"

It was her turn to buy a round of drinks for the table - and it seemed as if, in an act of punishing her for her outburst, her father decided to freeze his Black Card she usually used to pay for her shit. She barely had anything at all in her private account; so that was bit of a bummer.

The bartender slash cashier - a friendly, skinny guy named Nikolai - sighed.

"Look, there's nothing I can do." he said, scratching the back of his head with his head. "You're welcome to try again, but y'know. It's Friday, and I have _paying_ customers to take care of."

"Ugh. Forget it." Frankie muttered and turned around, the humiliation tugging at her insides like a feral raccoon.

"Uh-oh." Tonya hummed as soon as she got back to the table. "Trouble?"

"Yeah." Frankie replied, sinking back into her seat. "Dad's card's not working, so... I'm _broke._ "

"Oh, shiiit." Mina said in a sing-song tone; and Frankie groaned, seeing her friend's grin. "Hold up, I'm gonna call my dad real quick. He's gonna be _real_ interested in hearing about the Morettis going bankrupt."

Frankie scoffed and tossed a handful of pretzels at her.

"Shut _up._ " she said; Mina laughed and shook the crumbs off her top. "Your dad works for Cicero as well, you _dumbass._ "

"Well, maybe he's a _spy._ " Mina teased. "Maybe he's really in cahoots with don Wham-Bam-Bam."

* * *

_"In cahoots with WHO?"_

_"Calm down. We used to call Hammerhead_ don Wham-Bam-Bam _, because he had all the nuance and subtlety of a burning sledgehammer."_

 _"Hey, is that an_ Arkham Knight _reference? Man, I loved that game. Wish they'd put more Penguin in it though. That guy's awesome."_

_"Heh. You know, Mackie always said the same."_

_"...suddenly I'm not so enthusiastic about Pengs anymore."_

* * *

"Seriously though, what's the problem?" Tonya interrupted Mina and Frankie sighed, rolling her eyes.

"I had an argument with my mother." she said with a wince. "So I guess dad decided to _teach me a lesson._ "

"Shit, _again_?" Delphine asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "Jesus. It kinda feels like he does it like every other month."

"Well, that's because he _does._ " Frankie said with a shrug. "But the point is - I'm _broke._ "

"I can pay for you." Mina said immediately. "But... Let's do it like the Maggia does it. A favor for a favor."

"Alright, you fucking _loan shark._ I'm in." Frankie said immediately; she already had a couple shots - and the alcohol loosened her up. Normally, she wouldn't agree to Mina's game of favors - she knew better than to barter with a Karnelli - but she was _tipsy,_ and Mina was her _friend._ "What's the deal?"

Mina rested her chin against the back of her hand, and looked at Frankie; her almond-shaped, dark eyes glimmered with playfulness as she turned her head to look towards the bar.

"Get me that guy's number." she said finally; and Frankie turned her head as well to follow Mina's gaze. "That big one sitting next to the bar."

"That gorilla? Eww." Frankie said automatically - even though she actually _got_ Mina. The man her friend was looking at seemed to be muscular and tall, _and_ well dressed; her type exactly. "Why him?"

"He has those dark, soulful eyes that I just _want_ to see between my legs." Mina giggled. "So get going. I wanna see that trademark Moretti charm."

"Watch out, sweetie." Frankie said, getting up. "Maybe I'll charm him into _my_ bed instead of _yours_."

She made her way across the room, pushing through the crowd; she walked up to the bar to approach the man whose number Mina wanted - and she froze, immediately recognizing the man's profile. His prominent nose, his defined jawline; she'd recognize that face anywhere.

_Fuck._

"I thought I made myself clear, you _oaf._ " she said, sitting down on the stool next to him. "I don't want to see you."

He turned his head slightly to look at her; he seemed tired.

"Sorry." he said, setting down his glass; he was drinking whiskey on rocks, and it made her wince. She _hated_ the taste of whiskey. "But I have a _job_ to do. Plus... You're with friends. So just get back to pretending I'm not here."

"Oh, I'm gonna." she said, rolling her eyes. "But first... I'm on a mission."

"Uh uh." he muttered. "Don't let me stop you."

"Shut up. Anyway, my friend wants your number." she said, the words tasting oddly bitter in her mouth. "And I want her to pay for my drinks, so... You know."

"Hmpf. Which one?" he asked; and only then she realized he was sitting in just the perfect spot to watch the reflection of Frankie's table in the mirror glass that the shelves on the wall were lined with.

_Jesus. Was he watching us the whole time?_

"Karnelli." she said. "The one with short hair."

"Hmpf. She's not my type." he said, fishing a pen out of the pocket of his dress pants; and Frankie raised her eyebrows. Mina - petite, black eyed and phenomenally long-legged - was _gorgeous_ ; but then again - Gargan was just a lowly thug and it would be unreasonable to have a refined taste in women. "I'm gonna have to let her down."

"I don't care. I just want her to buy me drinks." she said, rolling her eyes once more. "Hey, what the _fuck_ -"

"I don't have any paper." he said, already writing a string of numbers down on her forearm; and his touch felt like being _burned_. "Try to not get wasted."

"Fuck off." she barked out in response. "I'll drink as much as I want to, you _moron."_

He only sighed; and she got back to her friends.

Mina wrote down his number; and soon - the booze started flowing, and the true fun began.

* * *

_"The last thing I remember from that night is dancing on the table... But Mac told me what happened next."_

_"I'm all ears."_

_"You sure?"_

_"Of course I'm sure. Not every day I get to hear what was one of my most staunch enemies like half a decade before we've met."_

* * *

The Moretti girl didn't like him.

It was an obvious, predictable fact - no associate-in-waiting he watched over ever seemed to like him - but it was still not exactly pleasant.

The girl was beautiful, and intelligent, and had a tongue sharp like a razor; and very clearly she hated his guts.

In another world, they could plausibly be on good terms; in a world where he grew up on a meat farm funded silently by another don-

* * *

_"I'm sorry, WHAT? The Maggia owns meat plants now?!"_

_"It's a codename for a Maggia-ran orphanage. The kids are - or rather were - called_ la marmaglia _. It's... An obscure word."_

_"And it means..?"_

_"Cattle."_

_"...god."_

_"Uh-uh. Up until like... Five years ago meat farms were a Maggia staple. They provided a steady stream of soldiers, strippers, spies, drivers..."_

_"It... Sounds a lot like a school-to-prison pipeline."_

_"Oh, that's because it basically_ was _a pipeline. An orphanage-mafia-prison-graveyard one."_

_"And... He grew up in one of those orphanages?"_

_"Yup."_

* * *

-in a world where he grew up on a meat farm funded silently by another don - maybe they'd get along. Maybe he'd end up as her bodyguard, or a private driver; and maybe, just maybe - she'd look at him with less disdain in those beautiful, silver eyes of hers.

For the past days - he had honestly lost count of them after the first week - he shadowed her silently, always keeping his distance, staying out of her sight, doing his best to keep his end of their deal.

The girl hated his guts, and it was understandable; and that night - he silently followed her into the Deep End: a bougie Maggia-ran nightclub.

The club changed owners frequently; that year it was in Macchio's hands - so Mac didn't have to pay for virtually anything. But - he still stopped for a moment to chat with the bouncer.

"Hey, man." Tony said, fistbumping Mac. "Been a while."

"Uh-uh." Mac muttered in response, shooting a quick glance in the direction of the Moretti girl and her friends. "You know her?"

"Who, Frankie? Yeah." Tony said, grinning proudly; and Mac stifled a groan, and gritted his teeth instead. Jealousy tugged at his insides furiously; somehow Tony - brash and crude - managed to get that one thing Mac would do _anything_ for: her good graces. "What, you into her?"

"Fuck no." Mac replied; that was a bitter, bitter _lie._ "Boss-man is making me follow her around. Make sure she doesn't slip away."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Shit, really?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Hey, so uh, are you gonna tell him I fucked her?"

"Nah." Mac said; he was standing with his hands in his pockets, and he could feel his nails digging deep into the skin of his own hands. "Just don't fuck her up."

In response, Tony only grinned; and in that moment Mac wanted to punch him.

Moments later he was seated next to the bar, ready to - at least partially - drown his sorrows in booze; as much as he wanted to, he couldn't get really wasted, and he couldn't go home with some equally lonely girl who just wanted a night of fun with no strings attached. He couldn't find himself a black-haired lover who was also looking for someone to pretend-

_You're pathetic. Get yourself together._

When she approached him, he could've sworn the time had stopped.

She looked _gorgeous_ in that simple black dress with spaghetti straps, and the heels she was wearing almost made it hard for him to not stare at her long legs; and when she sat down next to him - oh, he was ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

The contempt in her voice pierced his skin, and the disgust in her eyes burned like acid; insults dripped off her razor-sharp tongue like poison, and he was ready to have his throat slit open with that poisoned blade of hers.

Her friend wanted his number; a petite, long-legged, dark-haired, pretty little thing. If it wasn't for her hair being short, she'd look like Frankie's sister; a tempting substitute, a pathetic attempt at sating his hunger.

(He told Frankie he'll let her friend down; that was a lie. In due time, he _was_ going to text her back. He _was_ going to allow himself to end up in bed with her. And he knew damn well he was going to feel like _shit_ afterwards.)

Hours had passed, and he remained in the same spot, watching the girls from a safe distance; but he was so caught up in his mission - he didn't notice who exactly put the drugs in Frankie's drink. It could have been Tony, whose shift was over by that time; it could have been the bartender; or it could have been one of Frankie's so-called _friends._ It could have been virtually anyone; but eventually - she drank a spiked drink, and Tony took her into the back room, away from her friends - but Mac followed them, sensing foul play.

"C'mon, babe." he heard Tony say. "Let's go."

"Wheareoutakingmeeeeeee?" Frankie mumbled out in response. "Ooooooh!"

"To a fun place. You're gonna love it." Tony replied; and Mac gritted his teeth, realizing his friend - not a very close or even good one, but a friend nonetheless - was most likely going to do the unthinkable.

_Aight. Time to step in._

"Woah." he said opening the door, doing his best to sound surprised. "What's up?"

Tony looked at him over his shoulder; Frankie was sitting in a nearby chair, and she looked completely, utterly _high_. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were hazy and half-closed, and she was slumped in the chair, and her limbs looked heavy and her legs were spread wide apart; when he spoke, she moved her head slightly and looked at him - but her gaze was absent and confused.

"I'm trying to take this here lil' miss home." Tony said, bending down slightly and trying to lift Frankie up from her seat. "And then we're gonna have some _fun_."

"Idonwannagooooooooooo!" Frankie protested; she giggled after accidentally placing her hand on Tony's crotch. "Oooooohisadiiiiiiick!" she exclaimed. "Iwannasuckyoudiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!"

"C'mon, man." Mac said as Tony finally succeeded at getting Frankie to get up. "She's high as a kite."

"Yup." Tony said, dragging Frankie towards the door. "Hey, you're her watchdog, right? You wanna join? I was thinking about making myself a small vid. Something her 'pa would probably want to not be posted online."

"Are you serious?" Mac asked tiredly. "Stop fucking around, Tony. Just leave her alone and walk away."

Tony laughed.

"Very funny, man." he said, trying to walk past Mac who was blocking the doorway. "It's a one in a million chance for me, man. Plus... I _really_ missed that tight pussy of hers." he added with a grin.

Mac sighed; and then, just as Tony was about to leave the room with Frankie - he punched the bouncer.

It was a single, strategically aimed punch; strong enough to make the man's head hit the wall, strong enough for him to let go of Frankie and collapse.

"Whooooooooo!" Frankie exclaimed as her would-be rapist fell down. "Youkilledim!"

"He'll be fine." Mac said, looking at the unconscious bouncer. "Unfortunately."

"Ieallywantedtosuckisdick." she mumbled out accusingly, crossing her arms on her chest. "Anyoukilledim."

"I didn't kill him." Mac said, shooting Tony one last glance. "C'mon. Let's get you home before something _really_ happens to you. Can you walk?"

Frankie stomped her foot.

"Idontwangohome!" she exclaimed. "Iwanna _fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_!"

"Jesus fucking Christ." Mac muttered, rubbing his forehead with his hand; it seemed as if she was given the Omega drug.

* * *

_"The... The what?"_

_"The Omega. Macchio tried to make it popular, but it never really... Got big."_

_"Care to elaborate?"_

_"It was basically a rape pill, made to be consumed by people with high estrogen levels. It... Was supposed to make the victim dizzy, horny, open to pretty much any sex act and to make them not remember anything."_

_"And the name? Does it have anything to do with Omega being a symbol for everythingness, as in open to everything and anything?"_

_"...ever heard about the omegaverse thing?"_

_"...you're joking. Right? Tell me you're joking. There's no way Macchio ever called a drug after what's objectively the worst fanfic trope ever."_

_"I don't know what to tell you, to be honest. It just... Make sense if you really think about it."_

_"...CAN WE PLEASE MOVE ON?"_

_"There was also something similar for people with high testosterone levels. It was called Alpha."_

_"I HATE EVERY SINGLE WORD OF THIS CONVERSATION."_

* * *

It seemed as if she was given the Omega drug - which would explain her state. It would also make Tony's abhorrent plan _very_ easy - and Mac shuddered at that thought.

"C'mon." he said, cautiously putting his hand on Frankie's shoulder. "Let's get you home."

"ButIwanna _fuuuuuuuuuuck_!" she repeated, shaking her head furiously. "Imorny!"

She grabbed his hand, and tried to lead it between her legs; but he resisted, even though the thought of his fingers slipping into her panties made him gulp quietly as he felt a familiar tingle run down his spine. He wanted her, he wanted her _bad_ ; but not like _this._ He wanted her conscious, and he wanted for her to look at him and want _him,_ specifically, personally; and he wanted for it to be _real._

"That's rough." he said, pushing her towards the door. "C'mon."

She kept protesting, but he managed to lead her out of the club; but as soon as they stepped outside - she turned to face him and gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly.

"Iwanna _fuuuuuuuuck._ " she demanded, staring at him. " _IWANNAFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK_."

"I know." he said, trying to move her hands away. "But it's real crowded here."

"Iwantemtseeeeeeee!" she announced in response.

She let go of his shirt, and pulled her dress up; he groaned and pushed her hands down.

"Stop it." he pleaded as she laughed. "Stop it!"

"Nooooooo!" she responded with what was most likely supposed to be a flirty wink. "Makmeeeeeeeeeee!"

_Huh._

"I can't tie you up." he said desperately. "Look. Fine. Whatever you want. I'll- I'll fuck you." he muttered through gritted teeth. "But first I need to get you someplace safe, and I need you to act _normal_ until we get there. Think you can do that for me?"

She grinned in satisfaction, and nodded ; but after taking a few steps alongside him - she changed her mind.

"IwannaFUUUUUUUUUCK!" she exclaimed, attempting to grind her hips against him. "Youannagodown?" she mumbled out in addition. "Youannalickmeout?"

_Yeah._

"What did I _just_ tell you?" he asked in exasperation; people around them began to turn their heads in their direction, and he could see their concern. "Act. Normal."

"IWANNAFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" she yelled out in response.

"Someone added something to her drink." Mac began to explain as a crowd formed around them. "I'm not- I'm just trying to-"

"There's a hotel nearby, just down the street." someone said from behind him. "So maybe drop her off there and contact her family?"

"Thank you." Mac said, pushing Frankie lightly. "I'll do that."

The stranger showed him the way; and for the first few steps everything was well - but then Frankie began her show once more.

This time instead of trying to convince her to be quiet - Mac scooped her up. She let out a surprised gasp; but also immediately wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Behave." he said tiredly; he truly, deeply wished for this hellish night to just be _over_.

"Wearonna _FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!_ " she screamed out in response.

Before he could say anything - she pressed her lips to his jaw in a sloppy kiss; she trailed his jawline with her lips, and planted some on his neck; and he just kept walking, all while pleading for her to _please_ stop that.

Her kisses - sloppy and wet - felt uncomfortably _good_ ; and even though he kept telling her to cut it out, to stop - he didn't really mind. Her kisses weren't for _him_ , they weren't even _genuine_ ; but he accepted them nevertheless, deciding this is the best he's ever gonna get.

"I need a room." he said as soon as they finally reached the hotel reception. "Or two. This girl's _wasted_ and I really, genuinely need a _break._ "

The receptionist - a blonde girl with her hair tied in a neat bun - nodded, her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her.

"We have a double available right now." she said finally. "The bed's a standard double."

"I'll take it." he said, setting Frankie down; she pouted and wrapped her arms around him. "Hey. Behave."

"Imoooornyyyyyyy." she mumbled out; she turned her dizzy gaze to the confused receptionist. "Weroooonna _FUUUUUUUCK._ " she added.

"We're _not_ going to do that." he added quickly before the girl behind the counter said anything. "Like I said. She's wasted. And I'm _tired._ "

"And I don't get paid _nearly_ enough to deal with this." the receptionist sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips; in response - Mac only shrugged.

The room was old-fashioned and cozy, with lots of dark wood, fern-themed wallpaper and copper-colored taps in the bathroom; but most importantly - it had a double bed and a massive wing chair, ideal for catching a few hours of sleep.

"Oooooooh!" Frankie exclaimed as soon as he gently pushed her into the room. "Columns!"

"Yeah?" he said, locking the door and hanging his jacket on the hanger. "What about them?"

"Columns." she repeated seductively; and he sighed, realizing the Omega effects had entered a new stage - the stage of so-called _flirtiness._

"Yes, columns." he said, turning around to look at her.

She was sitting at the edge of the bed, looking at him with a smirk; her legs were crossed and she was swaying her left foot slightly.

Mac froze.

"I was a bad, _bad_ girl." she said, playing with the straps of her dress; her voice was still a bit mumbly and her eyes were still hazy. "Don't you want to... _Punish_ me?" she added, starting to slide the straps off her shoulders.

_badbadbadBAD_

"I'm not going to punish you." he said automatically, frozen in place, his eyes fixated on her hands. "Stop that."

In response - she laughed.

"Come and _make me_." she teased; and he sighed, letting out a wordless stream of cursewords.

"I have a much better idea." he said finally; she cocked her head and he shot her a forced grin.

With a heavy heart, he walked up to her; she immediately grabbed him by his tie and pulled him closer, leaning in for a kiss and for a moment, for just a moment he wanted to let her, to have that kiss, just that one kiss-

-but would he be able to stop himself afterwards?

"Wait." he said, gently pushing her lips away with his thumb. "Close your eyes... And say _aaaaaaa._ "

"But I want a kiss." she said stubbornly. "You hear me? A kiss!"

_Well, that'll have to do._

She kept repeating that, until finally - she kept her mouth open for long enough for him to spray a dose of his sleeping spray into her mouth.

Moments later, she was fast asleep, her body heavy and her limbs spread wide apart; and he was oh so tempted to place an ever so gently kiss on her bare shoulder - but he didn't, and instead turned around and made himself comfortable on the chair.

* * *

_"And then the morning came, and I woke up alone, hungover... But untouched."_

_"But are you sure?"_

_"What?"_

_"You said the Omega drug causes some kind of memory loss, and you only know what happened from Scorps. So... Do you believe him?"_

_"Of course I believe him. If you're alluding to the possibility of him doing something to me while I was out... Do you have any idea how difficult it would be for him to clean_ everything _up without leaving_ any _trace?"_

 _"Believe it or not, but I actually do have sex from time to time. Ugh. That made me sound like an alien. But... Do you_ really _believe him? Because I'm not gonna judge you-"_

 _"He didn't rape me, Spider-Man. Never. I know you only know his worst side, but... The Mac I know is_ very _different from the Mac_ you _know. I'm not trying to cover anything, and I'm not hiding anything. Now... Do you want me to go on?"_

 _"I do, actually. I'm still waiting for the_ and then we became good friends _bit."_

_"I never said we became good friends."_

* * *

The next morning Frankie woke up feeling like _death._

On the end table next to the bed she found a handwritten note and a hundred dollar bill; the note said simply _keep the change_ \- and she didn't recognize the handwriting.

"According to the note in our system... You were brought here last night by a man who paid for the room." the woman behind the reception desk told her. "The reservation is on mister Gargan, Macdonald."

"Fuck." Frankie groaned out, rubbing her forehead with her hands. "Ugh. When do you need me to leave?"

"Tomorrow." the woman said; and Frankie sighed with relief.

She took a long, ice-cold shower, and forced some greasy bacon down her throat; and a few hours later - she was home.

* * *

She only met him again a week later - a boring, uneventful week later.

She forced herself to apologize to her parents, even though she wasn't feeling guilty; she exchanged photos with her girls; and she obediently slaved away at the bakery, cursing silently under her breath, mentally trying to count how much did Mina spend on her. She hated feeling indebted to anyone; and even though she fulfilled her end of the bargain - she knew better than to owe even a single penny to a Karnelli.

* * *

_"Weren't the two of you friends?"_

_"Maybe, but she was still an heiress to a Maggia-affiliated loan-shark empire."_

_"...oh. OH."_

_"Yeah. CashNow, EasyLend, Money247... A lot of small branches."_

_"Oh, I remember now! There was a Last Week Tonight episode about it. They did a lot of investigating to track down the owners, and it all came down to a single guy."_

_"Petrucchio Karnelli? Yeah, that'd be Mina's dad. Also known as_ The Skinner _. Can you guess why?"_

_"I can, but I desperately don't want to."_

* * *

One day - one boring, uneventful day - she noticed a black car with dark windows parked on the curb just outside the bakery.

She recognized it _immediately_ ; and its presence pissed her off.

There he was, that fucking _asshole_ , watching her; even though he promised she won't have to see him ever again.

That sight made her blood boil, and made her slam her fist against the counter angrily; all the rage that was piling up inside of her for the past week suddenly flooded her, its crashing waves turning the last shreds of her common sense into dust.

She stormed out of the bakery and furiously banged her fist against the car's window.

"FUCK YOU!" she screamed, pulling at the knob. "YOU HEAR ME?!"

"Loud and clear." Gargan replied from behind her; she grunted and turned around, still fuming - and there he fucking was, holding a trenta-sized Starbucks cup in one hand and a panini in the other.

She bared her teeth angrily and reached out with her hand, reaching for the cup; but he stepped aside, foiling her plan of splashing whatever was in the cup in his face.

"Get the fuck _away_." she said through gritted teeth, trying to grab his sandwich instead; but to no avail, as this time he simply raised his hand a bit. "You're scaring my customers away, you fucking _freak._ "

He silently looked around; and she followed his gaze, noticing there weren't any vacant parking spots anywhere in the vicinity.

"Nah." he said finally; she stomped her foot angrily and punched him in the chest. "The best I can do is get back inside the car." he added, ignoring her punches completely, as if they had no effect on him. "So if you'd excuse me-"

"I'll fucking _stab you_ if you don't get the fuck _away._ " she said desperately. "You hear me? I'll fucking stab you. Cut your throat."

"Uh-uh." he said, walking past her and setting the cup and the sandwich down on the roof of his Toyota.

She let out one last angry groan and went back inside, still fuming; she tried to let some of that steam out in the baking area - but it was useless. No amount of furiously kneading soft, unfleshlike dough or chopping fruit or shaving butter was in any way comparable to hitting a living creature, making it scream out in pain, making it feel just the faintest sliver of what _she_ felt.

(She could still feel his rock-hard chest underneath her hands.)

A short while later she ran out of almonds.

Well, not exactly _ran out_ , as there was still a large bag left in the storage; but it was hidden on the highest shelf, one that she could barely reach even as she tiptoed at the topmost step of the stepladder, not to mention actually reaching and grabbing anything hidden there without losing her balance and falling down, snapping her spine in the process.

(And admittedly - that was _very_ low on her _list of ways she'd like to die._ )

* * *

_"What was at number one?"_

_"Falling asleep after eating a large box of sleeping pills after killing my whole family."_

_"...I regret asking that question."_

* * *

She had _no_ idea how did that bag end up up _there_ ; all the delivery guys from all the wholesale suppliers she ever ordered from knew to always put the ordered supplies on the lower shelves - and yet there she was, in a desperate need of almonds, unable to reach that very thing she _needed_ to finish her dulce de leche mini tarts.

She gritted her teeth; and once more stormed out of the bakery.

"Gargan!" she exclaimed, angrily pounding against the car's dark window with her fist. "Come out, you _fuck._ "

"No, I don't think I will." he replied from inside the car, his voice slightly muffled. "Go away."

"Don't fucking make me break the fucking window, _pal._ " she warned him, already looking around in search of a stone. "Because I _will_ , I will fucking _smash it into pieces_ , and I will fucking _stuff that glass down your fucking throat-_ "

"Jesus fucking Christ." he said, rolling the window down a bit and glancing at her cautiously from the driver's seat. "D'you want something _specific,_ or did you only come out to _yell at me_?"

"Fuck you." she angrily said in response, clenching her fists in response. "I..."

"Well?" he asked again; for some reason - his dark, attentive eyes made it oddly hard for her to focus on her train of thought. "I'm waitin'."

"I need someone to get a bag of almonds off the shelf for me." she finally said through gritted teeth. Asking _him_ of all people for _help_ felt humiliating; but she had no other choice. "So get your ass out of the car and for once in your fucking life do something _useful._ "

"...aight." he said after a long pause. "Show me your hands."

"What?"

"Show me your hands." he repeated. "I don't want to get _stabbed_."

_Fuck. I wish I thought about that._

"Here." she said, raising her hands and turning around.

He got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk; he had to bend his neck a bit to look at her, but even hunched over - he was _massive._

Without a word she turned around and went back inside; he followed her silently.

"Here." she said, stopping in front of the shelves.

"Oh wow." he said, grabbing the bag; in his giant hands - it looked weirdly small. "Damn. That was _not_ worth getting out of the car for."

In response, she flipped him off and reached for the bag - but he held it above her head and _just_ out of her reach.

She kicked him in the shin, causing him to drop the almonds; and afterwards - she showed him out, his pained grunt still echoing in her head.

During the next few days she kept finding herself in the same situation of being forced to ask him for help, as somehow the thing she needed ended up on the topmost shelf, well beyond her reach.

* * *

_"That's... Convenient."_

_"I know what you're thinking. No, Mac didn't break into the bakery each night just to move something to the top shelf in hopes of getting me to talk to him."_

_"And you're certain of it, because..?"_

_"Because a few months later I caught one of the delivery guys doing this while unloading my supply order. Turns out he was new and didn't get the memo."_

_"And you're_ sure _he wasn't actually just his friend?"_

_"You're paranoid."_

_"Well, can you blame me? Scorps is... A nasty, nasty person. Manipulating a girl into talking to him through the use of her physical limitations and overwhelming loneliness... Doesn't sound like something he wouldn't do."_

_"...look, while I genuinely love him and know damn well he's actually highly intelligent - I feel like you're giving him_ way _too much credit here. He's not some expert manipulator, carefully pulling the strings to make everyone dance. And back then... He was just a guy. A big, strong guy who had to follow me around. If he wasn't there... I'd manage. With a lot of swearing and some bruises, but... I'd manage."_

* * *

During the next few days she kept finding herself in the same situation of being forced to ask him for help, as somehow the thing she needed ended up on the topmost shelf, well beyond her reach. Every time she tried to get it herself; and every time she was forced to swallow her pride, go outside and bang her fist against the car door.

Until one day - she realized they accidentally worked out a routine.

She'd storm out of the bakery, and pound at the glass with her fist; and he'd wait a few moments before responding, but never more than half a minute; and every interaction would end up with him getting kicked in the shin.

And as she quickly realized - those brief, violent encounters simply felt _good_.

Yes, he never really responded to her insults, and never fought back when she attacked him - but it was enough. Whenever she lashed out at her parents they reacted in a way that aggravated her even _more_ ; but Gargan? He let her scream, and kick, and punch. He let her be violent, he let her be crude, and it just felt so, _so_ good to finally be able to properly let some of that steam out.

So one day, without thinking too much about it - she marched out of the bakery and approached his car.

"What is it this time?" Gargan asked a few moments later, getting out of his car. "Flour? Hazelnuts?"

"Shut up. I'm pissed off."

"...and you're telling _me_ about it, because..?" he asked, sounding taken aback. "What, you want me to book you another meeting with Goldstein?"

"I don't need a fucking _therapist._ " she said sharply, even though... Even though it _was_ kind of nice how Goldstein made her feel listened to and _understood_. "I want to _punch you_ , you _cretin._ "

He squinted suspiciously, and cocked his head for a moment.

"Aight." he said finally, looking around. "Right _now_?"

"Right now." she said, turning around. "C'mon. I don't have a whole fucking _day_."

Without a word, he followed her into the bakery; and as soon as the door closed behind them - she turned around and began furiously pummeling. She didn't aim for any particular spot; but once she started - she couldn't stop.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." he said finally, after a few minutes of having her hands crash against his tough stomach.

"Shut up." she replied, jumping in place a bit, just like she saw boxers do on tv. "I'm not done yet."

"Uh-uh." he uttered out in response, sliding his hands into his pockets; and she gritted her teeth. His blase demeanor was _infuriating_ ; there she was, assaulting him, throwing the hardest punches she could muster - and it had _no_ effort on him. Somehow, he seemed _bored_ ; and she wanted to _hurt him._

She threw one last punch, this time aiming for his face, for that ridiculously sharp jawline of his-

-and _that_ got a reaction out of him.

Just before her fist made contact with his face, he grabbed her wrist and pulled and twisted it, forcing her to turn around and bend her back; he pressed her hand against her back as she screamed and thrashed around, trying to escape his painful grip.

"That's enough punching for today." he said, releasing her moments later. "You wanna wreck my face... You gotta pay me."

"Fuck you." she snarled in response. "I'm not gonna _pay_ you for fucking _anything._ "

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm not talking about _money_." he said, shuffling in place slightly; and she winced in disgust, her mind immediately jumping to that one thing most men seemed to always want: sex. The idea of exposing herself to him like that, letting his hands wander across her skin, bucking her hips underneath him - it repulsed her.

(But did it really? He had soulful, dark eyes, and a nasty smirk, and his big hands were rough-)

* * *

_"PLEASE tell me this isn't going in THAT direction."_

_"Calm down."_

_"TELL ME!"_

_"Well maybe if you'd let me finish my goddamn sentence-"_

* * *

"I'm not talking about _that_ either." he added seeing her expression. "I just... I _really_ could go for one of those fruit pastries." he said in a weird, sheepish tone; he slid his hands deeper into his pockets and slouched down a bit, like a young boy confessing to his strict father that it was indeed him who kicked the ball that broke the living room window. "You know. Those you gave me last time?"

"What?" she asked, cocking her head; she vaguely remembered packing a few pastries with her shaking hands - but she couldn't, for the live of her, remember what _exactly_ did she hand him. "What pastries?"

He sighed and drew a vaguely round shape with his hand in the air.

"Y'know, those round ones." he said, gesticulating with his giant hands. "With edges kind of like... Folded over the top, just a bit. And there was some sugar on those edges. Nice, big crystals. And raspberry filling.

"Raspberry mini-galettes." she figured out finally. "Those were seasonal only." she added immediately, even though there was a fresh batch of raspberries macerating in grapefruit juice in the kitchen.

He sighed.

"Then I'll take something else." he said, walking up to the display. "You've punched me for ten minutes. So I'll have... Five of those dulce de leche things. One for each two minutes."

"Oh, fuck off." she said angrily. "I'll have to pay my mother back from my _own fucking money_. And I have better things to pay for."

"So you're not gonna give me money, not gonna suck my dick and not gonna give me mini tarts." he said, looking at her over his shoulder. "That's real unfortunate, and not at all how business works."

"Too bad. I don't owe you _anything_ , you fucking _weirdo._ If anything... _You_ owe _me._ " she shot back. "Now get the fuck out, or I'll call the cops."

He sighed, and shook his head; and much to her surprise - and a bit of disappointment - left the bakery. She was literally _just_ getting started with her tirade, and there were still _so_ many insults she wanted to hurl at him; but he didn't give her a chance.

"Asshole." she muttered to herself, plopping down onto her chair hidden behind the counter. "Fucking piece of shit dickhead son of a _bitch_."

The next day the exact same thing happened, and the day after; and every time after becoming her punching bag for a few minutes he'd try to haggle some pastries out of her - and it never worked.

Until one day - her mother made the decision for her.

* * *

"What on Earth are you doing?!" Kiyomi asked after entering the bakery; Frankie was just really getting into punching Gargan's rock-hard flesh and was _not_ expecting her mother to drop by.

"Exactly what it looks like." Frankie replied, fighting off the temptation to grab a knife from the kitchen and stab the man with it. "Punching a dickhead."

"Yes, I can see that. Stop it."

Frankie groaned and lowered her hands.

" _Fine._ " she said, rolling her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to check if everything's fine." Kiyomi replied, switching to Japanese. "Show me the numbers."

"Sure, sure." Frankie muttered, handing her mother a thick notebook she used as a business ledger. It would, of course, be easier to simply leave registering the transactions to a computer; but Kiyomi was adamant in wanting a vintage cash register - so Frankie had to write everything down by hand.

Her mother flipped a few pages, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"No good, no good at all." she said; and Frankie's heart sank. "We need more customers."

"We could run some ads online." Frankie suggested, just like she did many times before. "I'm telling you, online marketing is gonna be _huge_ soon."

"Oh, Fran." Kiyomi said, patting Frankie's head lightly. "You always say such silly things. Come now." she added, entering the prep area. "Ophelie dug out some new recipes to try out."

Frankie sighed and pulled up a chair, expecting her mother to pull out a stack of recipes - but instead Kiyomi glanced towards Gargan, who was standing with his back to the prep area.

"Who _is_ that?" she asked, looking at Frankie. "Do you know him?"

"Well, yeah. He's... He's the guy Macchio ordered to follow me around." Frankie muttered in response, rubbing her marked hand against her thigh.

"Really? You never told me he was so _handsome._ " Kiyomi said with a smile; and Frankie groaned internally. "Have you thought about... Using that to your advantage?"

"I really don't see how him being hot is going to help me, mother." Frankie mumbled out in response, even though she already _knew_ where her mother is going.

"Well, you could always soften him up. Get him on your side. And, since he's handsome... Wouldn't it be _easy_?"

_EXCUSE ME?_

"Are you seriously telling me to fuck him?" Frankie asked in disbelief. "Because... _Ew._ No fucking way."

"Well, _you're_ the one talking about such crude things, Fran. I'm just saying... I certainly wouldn't mind having him over for dinner one night." her mother giggled, as if it was all just a hilarious joke, an ideal situation for her daughter to be in. "Your clock's ticking, Fran. When are you going to bring some handsome boy home?"

* * *

_"Weren't you fake-engaged to Angelo back then?"_

_"I never told my parents. They thought he was just a friend. And funnily enough my father kept bringing him up as_ the ideal husband candidate _."_

_"Wait. So you two were fake-engaged... But never told anyone?"_

_"It was just a spectacle for his father's sake. Plus don Fortunato also advised us against telling anyone, lest it got us into trouble."_

_"That's_ so _needlessly complicated."_

_"Do you want me to draw you a scientific diagram of that situation?"_

_"No, but you can draw an unscientific one instead."_

_"...anyway, as I was saying..."_

* * *

"When I find one that's actually _decent_ , mother." Frankie replied, her insides twisting and turning in grief at her mother's light, casual tone. "And this one _isn't._ "

"It wouldn't kill you to offer him a cup of coffee though. Or something sweet. I bet he gets really bored watching over you, with you just hanging around here... Least you can do is offer him a snack on the house."

"What?" Frankie asked, feeling something unpleasant in her chest, something hollow, something burning, something sharp; a realization of her mother's complete and utter disregard of the dire nature of her predicament. "I'm- _HE'S NOT MY BODYGUARD._ " she said, her voice and hands trembling. " _HOW CAN YOU NOT GET IT?! HE'S NOT PROTECTING ME, HE'S- HE'S JUST-_ "

"Oh, I know." her mother said, waving her hand slightly, her tone still light. "But think about it, Fran. Maybe you'll get some good out of him." she giggled, turning around. "Anyway. I'll be going. Please go through the recipes from Ophelie."

Frankie didn't respond, her eyes fixed on the table; and as soon as she heard the small bell above the entrance door - she grabbed the nearest rolling pin and slammed it against the counter as hard as possible.

" _FUCK!_ " she screamed, tears - burning and salty - running down her cheeks as her mother's words echoed in her head, over and over again, so casual, so light, treating her daughter's hell like a _joke._ "FUCK!" she screamed again; but it isn't enough.

She grabbed a metal pot, and threw it against a wall; then another; then a metal bowl. She was no longer in control of her body, and all she wanted, all she _could_ do was to destroy; but no matter how hard she threw, how loud she screamed - it wasn't enough.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Gargan, that fucking son of a whore, standing in front of the counter still; and without thinking - she grabbed the nearest knife and stormed out of the prep area, ready to finally end it all, ready to either carve his heart out or spill her own blood.

" _GET THE FUCK OUT!_ " she screamed. " _I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"_

Before he responded - she swung the blade, aiming for his neck.

She missed, as he jumped back; and for a moment, for just a moment she thought - she _hoped_ \- he's going to retaliate; but he didn't, even as she let out another scream and swung the blade once more, aiming for his heart this time-

He grabbed her by her wrist before the blade pierced his skin, and she let out another scream and started to frantically claw at his hand with her fingernails. He grabbed her other hand as well, pulling it away; and all she could do was scream and flail as he forced her to turn around and drop the knife.

"I can't let you kill me." he said, letting go of her; she turned around and raised her fists, doing her best to stop her tears from flowing. "I'm leaving. Alright? I'm _leaving_."

"I fucking hate you so _much._ " she uttered out through gritted teeth; and he just _stood_ there, completely unaffected by any of this.

For a moment - something flashed in his eyes, something indescribable, something unfathomable.

"That's fair." he said, turning around.

* * *

_"And only a few years later he told me he locked himself up in his car and almost overdosed on LXD."_

_"I'm sorry, what? I'm not sure if I should be concerned, or... Slightly less concerned."_

_"LXD. You really haven't heard of it? I was sure you helped the cops get it off the streets a few years ago."_

_"Not to brag, but I helped take care of so many drugs they all kind of blend together at this point."_

_"...right. LXD was Macchio's take on LSD. Basically the same... But highly addictive. And regular acid wasn't enough to scratch that itch."_

_"Oh I remember now! Nasty stuff. I never knew Scorps is an addict though. Think this might has something to do with him going radio silent?"_

_"No. Mostly because he never became addicted."_

_"What?"_

_"Yeah. He used to take some... Counter drugs he cooked up himself. To alleviate the addictive factor. At least that's what he told me. I... Don't know the details."_

_"...beep beep beep. Can we back up a little? And focus on that_ cooked a complex substance up by himself _part? Because holy shit."_

_"Heh. Wait, you... You don't know?"_

_"I don't even know what I apparently don't know."_

* * *

A week had passed before she saw him again - a thoroughly uneventful one. She'd get up in the morning, go to the bakery, spend her day there, and go home. At home she'd lock herself up in her room and play _God of War_ , or _Dead Space_ , or _Left 4 Dead_ ; anything violent, really.

Until one day - the stuffy silence of the bakery really got to her. That day, the customers were few and far in between, and spe spent most of the day alone, with no one to talk to; and she couldn't even text her friends, as they had college classes to take care of. Talking to herself got boring really fast, not to mention embarrassing; and she very literally felt as if she's about to go _insane._

"Jesus." she muttered under her breath, fighting off the urge to bang her head against the counter.

It was a gray, rainy day outside; not many people walked past the bakery; so all she could really focus on were the cars parked outside.

Which wasn't a lot. In fact, it was _nothing_ ; she didn't care about cars. They all looked more or less the same to her, and their internal mechanisms sounded boring; but one car parked outside, on the other side of the street - a black Toyota Something with dark windows - kept drawing her attention.

She knew that car, and she knew it well; and she knew Gargan's sitting inside.

Gargan.

The towering, oafish man who followed her around like a weight at the end of a leash, his don's order holding her down like a tight collar, choking her, keeping her away from freedom; the mere thought of him made her blood boil. She remembered how he cornered her in a dark alley, and wrapped his fingers around her throat, and he pulled her down, like an iron ball chained to her ankle.

But at the same time - he took her punches and insults and threat. Sure, the stoic way he just _allowed_ her to hurl insults at him was infuriating; but maybe, just maybe... That was better than killing a kid in _L4D,_ having him call her a faggot, responding to him with more insults and once again tumbling down the deep, white-hot pit of uncontrollable anger.

"Jesus." she muttered again, hiding her face in her hands. "Aight." she muttered to herself. "Decisions, decisions, all of them fucking _impossible._ " she continued quietly, moving her hands away.

She opened the cash register and began rummaging through the coins inside; finally - she fished out a quarter.

"Aight." she said, folding her hands into a basket around it and shaking vigorously, feeling it bounce off the skin of her hands. "Heads... I stay here and do nothing. Tails... I tell that cretin to come inside."

She tossed the coin five times, deciding to go with whichever side is up more times; and she sighed deeply as the coin landed with Washington facing up for the third time after the last toss.

"Sure." she said, taking her apron off and hanging it on a nearby hook. "Whatever. Go to the guy who kidnapped you and is making sure you don't run away and ask him to hang out with you because you're _bored._ Why not. Why the fuck not." she muttered under her breath, marching out of the bakery.

Without thinking about it too much, she crossed the street and marched up to Gargan's car.

"Hey asshole!" she exclaimed, pounding her fist against the dark glass. "Look alive, you piece of shit!"

The window rolled down slowly, and Gargan looked at her tiredly from the driver's seat.

"What do you want?" he asked, putting a book down onto his lap.

"I'm fucking bored as _shit._ " she said with a shrug. "So _whatever_ , I guess."

He rolled his eyes.

"There's a library down the street." he said, leaning in towards the window and pointing in the library's direction with his finger. "They have... Books."

Frankie raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, stopping herself from flipping him off. It was awfully bold of him to assume she didn't know about the library; she had a fat stack of books borrowed from there hidden underneath the counter she was reading through during slow days.

"I'm shocked you even knows what books _are._ " she said as he started to roll the window back up. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving the conversation." he said with a sigh; the window stopped. "Go back inside. It's raining."

"Don't tell me what to do." she barked out in response. "C'mon. I'm fucking _bored._ "

"Christ almighty." he muttered under his breath, tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. " _Fine._ What do I have to do to get you to just leave me be?"

_oh you fucking piece of shit motherfucker son of a BITCH._

" _EXCUSE ME?_ " she asked, her voice shaky from the anger simmering inside of her. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT FUCKING SON OF A BITCH MOTHERFUCKER-"

He sighed and got out of the car as she continued hurling insults at him, switching between English, Italian and Japanese.

As soon as he was close enough she leaped towards him, determined to land a few good punches, to maybe finally _hurt_ him; but before she landed even a single punch - he scooped her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, his giant hand on her waist making it impossible for her to wiggle out.

"PUT ME DOWN!" she screamed, kicking the air and pounding against his back with her fists. "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT-"

"There." he said, setting her down in front of the entrance door to the bakery. "Go inside before someone calls the cops on."

She flipped him off, and he rolled his eyes; and only reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt (doing her best to avoid touching _him_ directly) as he turned around and took a step towards his car.

"What?" he asked, turning around again; he didn't sound annoyed - but he certainly seemed _tired._

Frankie opened her mouth to respond; but the words - humiliating, pathetic words - refused to come out. They got stuck in her throat, uncomfortable to hold and impossible to swallow; and remained there, no matter how hard she tried to get them out.

 _Come inside_ , she wanted to say; a simple, neutral request. But it just was too much; and it felt as if if she somehow _did_ manage to get them out - they'd cut the inside of her mouth like a razor, forcing her to spit out blood.

So instead of saying something, she just stood there, opening and closing her mouth silently like a fish, and constantly shifting her gaze between the man and the bakery.

"You want me to come inside?" he asked finally.

Frankie scoffed and let go of his sleeve, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms instead.

"Whatever." she said before turning around and heading back inside, leaving him on the sidewalk.

A few moments later - he came inside. He didn't say a single word, the copper bell above the entrance being the only sound in the otherwise silent room; he pulled up a chair, sat down and pulled a book out of his pocket; and for the next hours or so - they remained completely silent, each busy with their own book.

(She was reading Kristeva's _Powers of Horror_ ; it was good. She didn't quite understand everything - and she suspected she's never going to, considering her lack of academic experience - and the farther she got, the more sense _the "sublime" object dissolves in the ruptures of a bottomless memory_ made to her.)

* * *

_"I never really got into Kristeva."_

_"What a surprise."_

_"No need to be so prickly, you know. Just because I run around Manhattan dressed up as a spider doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Which, admittedly, sounded a lot better in my head."_

* * *

That was their new routine for the next few days.

She'd open the bakery as usual, and he'd sit in the car nearby; and eventually she'd go out and invite him inside.

( _Invite_ wasn't quite the word for it, as their routine involved her calling him a dickhead and telling him to eat shit and die; but the end result was synonymous with that of _inviting_ someone.)

One day - silent and slow - she looked up from her own book; she glanced at him briefly, hunched over in his tiny chair - and let her eyes crawl all across his profile, his torso, his hands, his crossed legs.

He was _big_ , big and _strong_ ; but seated in a dainty chair, hunched over a matching table - he didn't look menacing.

That time, he brought a few books with himself, as well as a thick notebook; and Frankie's gaze trailed off towards his book, as she found herself unable to fight off her curiosity. What could a giant, silent oaf like him possibly be reading?

(For a moment or two, she entertained a handful of possibilities, from middle-school English textbooks, to children's novels, to _Breathing For Dummies_ ; oh, if only she knew how completely, utterly wrong she is!)

" _WHAT?_ " she mouthed silently, reading the first title. _The Bioinorganic Chemistry Of Copper-Containing Systems: From Type-3 Systems Pertinent To Alzheimer’s Disease To Mononuclear Hydrolysis Involved In Biological Development_ \- she understood most of those words separately. But in that order - they meant absolutely nothing.

And it wasn't just that one book either; the entire stack seemed - with emphasis on the most ephemeral, most vague meaning of the word _seemed_ \- to be about...

In stunned silence she decided this must be about chemistry. She was always bad at it, constantly bringing home Fs - and the terms used in those titles evoked that familiar sense of dread that came from listening to the teacher and not understanding anything.

_Development of biocompatible multi-drug conjugated nanoparticles/smart polymer films for biomedicinal applications. Enzyme linked spectroscopic assays for Glyoxylate: The use of Peptidylglycine alpha-Amidating Monoxygenase for the discovery of Novel alpha-Amidated hormones. Isolation and Identification of O-linked-β-N-acetylglucosamine Modified Proteins (O-GlcNAc) in the Developing Xenopus laevis Oocyte._

* * *

_"WHAT?!"_

_"Heh. I knew you'd be surprised."_

_"This is all PHD-level stuff!"_

_"Yeah. And there he was. Reading it, like... Well, like a normal book for normal people."_

_"Are you telling me that all this time... Scorps had been a PhD-level chem expert?"_

_"Where did you think his toxins came from?"_

_"I don't know! I just assumed he gets them_ somewhere _! I just. I just assumed there's someone out there who's in cahoots with Scorps."_

_"Heh. Well... Not quite. He does have some suppliers, but in the end... It was always him cooking those things up."_

_"Wait. Hold that thought. We-"_

_"-should talk to his suppliers? Tried that. Multiple times."_

_"Yeah, but have you tried_ following _them? Maybe he's in in hiding, cooking something big up. Something requiring regular deliveries of... Whatever substances he's using these days."_

_"I can't afford to follow anyone around. Brutus is not gonna walk himself."_

_"And this is where I come in. Me and my apprentice and our army of sneaky-stealthy robots."_

_"Oh wow. I didn't know you have an apprentice."_

_"He's alright. Don't tell him I called him that though, he hates it even more than when I call him my_ sidekick _."_

_"Can't imagine why. Do you want me to keep talking?"_

_"If you want to."_

* * *

"What the _fuck_?" she muttered in Japanese under her breath; in that moment she almost felt glad her parents enforced the trilingual rule as strictly at they did.

"Hm?" he asked in response, looking up from his book; and Frankie scoffed, doing her best to hide her deep distraughtness.

"Mind your fucking business, you fucking _freak._ " she barked out in English. "You wouldn't understand a _word_ anyway." she added in Japanese, in a quieter tone. "Fucking weirdo."

He sighed, closed the book and put it down.

"I speak Japanese." he said in Japanese, furrowing his brows a bit; and she almost winced hearing his unnatural, stiff accent, reminiscent of the exaggarated enounciation of anime voice actors. "Not good, but I understand."

"Of fucking _course._ " she replied through gritted teeth. "I bet you watch anime. Fucking _loser._ "

He shrugged.

"It's an art medium." he said, almost sounding defensive.

"Go watch _Naruto_ and fuck off, you fucking _freak._ " she said, conveniently omitting the existence of her own, 5 TB anime folder. Sure, she never got into the inherent soap opera-like over the top melodrama of _Naruto_ \- but she wasn't above _Spice and Wolf,_ or _Da Capo,_ or even _Nabari no Ou_. "And don't talk to me, or I'll cut you open and rip your guts out."

"Suit yourself." he said, picking his book up again.

The next few hours passed in silence; and only after she got home the horrifying implications of her discoveries hit her like a freight train.

Gargan - large, and stoic - was smart enough to read and enjoy books about chemistry and teach himself enough Japanese - a language with grammar, syntax, vocabulary and writing systems drastically different fromAmerican English - to understand and construct sentences.

Clearly he wasn't half as dumb as she thought he is - and that realization chilled her to her bones.

He was smart, smart and dangerous. He cornered her once, and now - after days of shadowing her, observing her habits, her shortcuts, her paths - he'd undoubtedly do it again. He was more than capable of doing so; and in that moment - she finally realized the fundamental truth of the grave nature of her situation.

She was trapped, plain and simple. There was no way out, no matter how loud she screamed, how hard she banged against the bars of her cage, how desperately she clawed at the ground. There was no way out - other than waiting for the day don Macchio decides what to do with her.

And even if she actually _did_ manage to kill Gargan - cut his heart out with a pastry knife, put a few drops of poison in his coffee when he wasn't looking, push him onto the street and in front of a truck - there would be another one. Another stranger, watching her every move, making sure she doesn't disappear. Another hound standing between her and freedom.

Or - she could take the drop of poison, the speeding truck, the jagged blade and use it on herself; oh, she _could._ It would've been so easy, and the idea of simply removing herself from the plane of living actually didn't feel half bad; finally there would be no bakery, no don Macchio, no Takeshi. There would be _nothing_ , _nothing_ but eternal peace and quiet. And there were _so_ many ways she could do it; she could cut herself, stab herself, poison herself, jump off a building, throw herself in front of a speeding vehicle, jump into a river and sink to the bottom, letting the cool water put her to sleep, the waves both a lullaby and a loving embrace.

(When she was a kid, she wanted to be a mermaid; but not to use a siren song to lead sailors astray. No, she simply loved how mermaids could just swim away, hide in the ocean depths; and she frequently fantasized about being one, in a bathtub full of water, her eyes closed, her body submerged, her skin marked by her own fingernails as she did her best to rub off the residual stickiness her brother's touch left on her.)

And one evening, she almost made her mind up.

* * *

It was a long, busy day at the bakery, and she barely had any time to take a deep breath; so in the evening - she went to her special place: the Brooklyn Bridge.

It wasn't a very secret place, or even a particularly quiet one; but she wasn't after secrecy or quiet.

What she _was_ after was the sense of being away from everyone she knew - and Brooklyn Bridge provided her with that sense of apathetic anonymity. All those people passing and driving by didn't know her; they didn't know her name, or the storm that raged within her. No one called her name out; and it was just her, and the sky, and the bottomless depth underneath.

"Jesus." she breathed out, standing next to the railing. "What a fucking _week._ "

No response; just the wind blowing from behind, pressing on her back, pushing her lightly.

She stood there quietly, taking in the view; she _hated_ it. The classic New York skyline was jagged and sharp; it looked like a pastry knife - and she hated it.

She looked over the railing, at the water under the bridge; it was dark and inviting and so, _so_ alluring. And it would've been so easy, climbing over the rail and taking one last leap; a short fall, a flash of pain - and then nothing.

And she had her hands grip the railing tightly, her muscles ready to leap over-

-but then, at the back of her head - she saw Takeshi.

"If I can't have you... _No one_ can have you." he told her one night, a few years earlier; they were home alone, even though Frankie begged their parents - who were going out to dinner at don Cicero's home - to get them a babysitter, or even better, to take her with them; but they refused, stating she is far too old for a babysitter, but far too young to take her with them. She locked herself up in her room, but Takeshi got into Bartolomeo's liquor stash, and started to bang at her door with his fists until she had to let him in lest someone calls the cops. She let him in, and he stumbled into her room, and he was drunk; he reeked of alcohol, and the room was dark, and as he stumbled towards her all she could think about was how much she wished she was at the sleepover one of her classmates was having on that very night; but Frankie wasn't invited - because _someone_ told Trish, who came from a very conservative, Christian family, that Frankie is secretly a lesbian and that she was into Trish. And Frankie _knew_ it was Takeshi, but she had no solid proof, no proof other than how he made her life a living hell for the past years, but no one, no one except for Angelo, believed her. And the room was dark and Takeshi reeked of alcohol and she was _paralyzed_ as he approached her; and she began to scream as he shoved his hand down his pants-

Frankie angrily wiped away tears that started to roll down her cheeks as she started to unwillingly reminisce. People passed her by, and no one stopped to look at her, no one _knew_ ; it was just her against the world - just her and the memory of her brother stating that if he can't have her - no one can. Not very long afterwards he moved out, and they didn't keep in touch; and she hoped - she _prayed -_ he got help, and became a better person, and experienced some remorse; but no.

He quite clearly didn't.

"This is fucking bullshit." she muttered to herself, sniffing angrily. "Fucking _bullshit._ _I_ will have me." she croaked out quietly as to not draw any attention. "I will have me, and I will thrive, without him, without father, without any fucking bakery."

She looked at her hands; she was gripping the railing so tightly her hands turned white.

"I will have me." she breathed out again. "And _maybe_ , just fucking _maybe_ , one day I'll find someone _else_ who'll have me too. And we will be happy together, and I will be loved, and for once in my fucking life I won't have to _fight_ for that love."

* * *

The acceptance of the grave reality of her situation didn't come as a big epiphany; it crept up on her slowly and silently. It came closer and closer with each time she looked at Gargan, each time she opened her mouth to say something to him, each time he awkwardly stuffed himself behind the counter to make myself a cup of tea or coffee, as she firmly forbade him from entering the bakery with a Starbucks cup in hand ever again.

(She firmly refused to _serve_ him _anything_ , as he wasn't a paying customer; if he wanted something - he had to get it himself. The same rule applied to ciabatta sandwiches, and pastries, as eventually her mother _made_ her agree to letting him have a little something every now and then; and Frankie wasn't too happy about having the fruits of her labor swallowed by _him_ of all people - but at the very least she wasn't going to be responsible for any inconsistencies in the books.)

She didn't lke that slowly growing sense of acceptance, its bitter taste, its jagged edges; it felt like defeat, losing a part of herself - but it was less tiring, less consuming, than her angry desperation, her blind stubborness. There simply wasn't any way out available, and that was a fact; no matter how much she screamed, no matter how furiously she defied Gargan's towering presence.

Acceptance crept up on her slowly - after days upon days of furiously spitting out shards of her anger. With each punch, each insult, each threat she spat out more and more of her denial, making more and more space for acceptance; until one day - it settled in.

All her anger, all her defiance had left a nice, cozy hole within her; and that's where acceptance began to take roots, one day at a time.

* * *

"You've been staring at me for the past hour." Gargan said, not looking up from his book; and Frankie blinked, the sound of his voice snapping her out of whatever realm her mind was wandering across. "What is it?"

"Nothing." she said, looking down and returning to her own, neglected book. "I just needed an intellectual break, so I decided to look at the first dumb thing I could find."

He rolled his eyes, pausing at the highest point of the roll for a moment, and raising his eyebrows; she knew that expression of his rather well, as she had seen him do this a lot of times already.

"How much longer do I have to wait?" she asked finally, blurting out the question that had been simmering within her for a while now. "It's been-"

"-three months." he interrupted her, turning the page. "It's not that long. Some people wait for years."

"Yeah, well, other people are not _me._ " she shot back without thinking; he looked at her briefly, and she could see the corners of his stupid lips twitch slightly. "Other people don't have direct ties to the Cicero family, I mean."

"Well, you'd be surprised." he said, turning the page. "And I know better than to hurry my don, so..."

"You could _ask_ him though. _Hey boss, I've been following her for a while now, what comes next?_ " she said in her best New York gangster impression.

He sighed.

"No, I could _not_." he said flatly. "See, I like being alive."

"You don't have anything going on in your life anyway." she shot back, doing her best to sound annoyed; but at that point - she wasn't even truly annoyed by his presence. Sure, she'd much more prefer for him to _not_ be there, same way she'd much more prefer for the don's signature to _not_ be on her hand - but there was nothing she could do about it. No matter what she did or said, Gargan would be there; and in a way - his awkward presence was useful, same way a punching bag her father never bought her would undoubtedly be. "What if I paid you? Got you a spot in Cicero's ranks?"

"So I'd become a cleanup target? Clever, but I'm gonna pass." he said, closing his book and putting it down. "Look, this is not an optimal scenario for either of us. You want me off your back-"

"No, I don't _just_ want you _off my back._ " she interrupted him angrily. "I want you-"

"-dead at the bottom of the river, gutted, stone-cold. Yes, I know." he said, stretching his neck; and three months earlier his tone would make her blood boil - but not anymore. While his constant presence _was_ an undeniable nuisance - there wasn't anything she could do about it. "Again. I know. But for now... All we can do is wait and hope for the best."

"And what are you going to do once it's all said and done?" she asked; she couldn't stop herself. For many months the silence inside the bakery was only disrupted by her own voice; and now - someone else was there, for more than a few minutes. Having a conversation for once almost felt _nice_ ; sure, she'd much rather have someone _else_ there; but he was still a whole another person, with things to say that were not her own thoughts. And while his voice and presence were something she wanted out of her life - she knew damn well beggars can't be choosers; a company's company regardless of the other person's name. "Cause I'm going to _celebrate._ "

"Oh, me too." he said, shuffling in his seat. "Crack open a few cold ones, order a pizza, don't leave home for a week straight... Bask in the sweet, sweet _loneliness_."

"Well, I hope your pizza comes with expired pepperoni." she said, looking up from her book. "And that you get food poisoning and die."

"Uh-uh." he said, picking a new book up from his stack; he looked up from it briefly, and his eyes found hers - and she flipped him off before turning around and venturing into the kitchen, feeling oddly lighter after getting some of her anger off her chest.

* * *

"There's only so much time you can spend angry." Frankie said, looking up at her ceiling. "You know?"

"Believe it or not, but I do." Spider-Man replied, still glued to the surface. "You were angry and hurting for... A _long_ time. You needed an outlet... And bam. Scorps."

"That's one way to put it." she sighed; she could feel a familiar, bitter taste in her mouth, metallic and sharp. She still remembered every insult, every punch; and the memory of his dark eyes made her heart ache. Not for what used to be, but for what came afterwards; they went a long way to be together - and she wasn't going to let it go to waste because of his stubbornness. "Hold on. You wanted to check his suppliers." she added, reaching for a nearby notepad.

"How did your family react to the news of you getting married to him?" Spider-Man asked as she was writing down the names; and Frankie winced slightly.

"Bad." she said with a sigh. "And before you ask... Yeah, I did consider the possibility of them having something to do with Mac's disappearance."

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

"My father's a Cicero man through and through, and the Cicero family doesn't just make people disappear without a trace." she said, looking at him. "There's always a legal scandal, and a lot of paperwork that can't be followed, because you're just gonna end up in a loop. And Takeshi..."

She paused for a moment, her brother's name bitter in her mouth.

"I don't think Takeshi would be able to stand his ground against Mackie." she said finally. " _You_ nearly died by Mackie's hand more than once, and you're a freak of nature who can stick to walls, shoot webs and sense incoming damage. No offense."

"None taken. That's nothing compared to some other people say to me."

"I know. Anyway, like I said... Takeshi is just a guy. A pretty messed up one, but just a guy nonetheless. Mac would tear him apart in seconds, and then send me a selfie on Snapchat." she said, putting the pen down. "And I thought about Rhino too. But the thing is - _you're_ the last person who saw them together."

"That is true." he agreed, shooting the piece of paper out of her hand and into a pocket of his suit. "And I gotta say... Scorps _did_ seem a bit unhinged back then. Not _uncharacteristically_ unhinged... But definitely out of it."

Finally he got down from her ceiling; Brutus raised his head briefly - but went back to sleep almost immediately as Spider-Man awkwardly stood in the middle of Frankie's living room.

"I think I should go now." he said finally after a few long moments of neither of them saying anything. "I'll get back to you if I learn something new... Or if I don't. Sometimes a lack of new clues is a clue in its own right."

"Thank you." she said, looking away from him. "Be seeing you." she added, mentally going through the list of her Maggia contacts. Sure, she already reached out to everyone still out there and in business to ask if anyone heard from Mackie recently, and they all said _no_ ; but she decided it wouldn't hurt to try once more. After all, a few days had passed since the last time she went around asking about Mac; maybe he got in touch with someone during those few days.

Moments later Spider-Man was gone, and Frankie was - once again - left alone with her own thoughts and the overwhelming sense of tiredness and apathy that she couldn't shake off for the past weeks.

"Oh, Mackie." she muttered quietly, rubbing the back of her previously tattooed hand with her fingertips. "You always appreciated a good charade. Think he'd like that one, Brutie?" she added as Mac's dog raised his head once more. "I think he would."

The dog - a massive, intimidating beast; but one she grew to love - didn't respond; but in its eyes - dark and soulful and intelligent, in a way most unsettling for a dog - she saw something akin to disapproval.

Or maybe it was just her wishful thinking, like many times before, when she'd sworn she heard Mac's footsteps outside, or saw his shadow, or felt his presence next to her.


End file.
